


Just Tell Me I Am Yours

by StarBurnedOut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15547110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarBurnedOut/pseuds/StarBurnedOut
Summary: Collection of short Scott/Malia one-shots revolving around their relationship.1 - Good Night2 - Busted3 - I'm Still Mad At You4 - A Lack of Subtlety5 - Thinking6 - You Don't Need to Say Anything7 - Talk to Me8 - Alive9 - Out of the Dark10 - The Next Step11 - Come Whatever May12 - A Perfect Day13 - Tired14 - Good Morning15 - I Think You Might Be My Soulmate16 - Sharing is Caring17 - Nowhere to Be18 - Home19 - Symbolic





	1. Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> Since my other ficlet collection is focused on the various friendships in the Teen Wolf universe, I wanted to start another one focused entirely on Scott and Malia and their relationship. Some of these will fit with canon, but some will be a reworking of what actually happened. If you've read any of my other stuff, you know I like to come up with different ways for them to get together, either earlier in the timeline, or just under different circumstances. So look forward to that, and enjoy whatever this ends up being.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first piece is an idea that I originally wanted to include in Simplicity, but I sort of forgot about it until I was at a point where including it wouldn't have fit with where the story was at the time. So here it is, made to somewhat fit in with canon, or at least building off how things ended. I imagine a good number of you will recognise a line of a dialogue in here that I straight up stole from a great show. I just thought it worked really well with Malia and Scott and their situation. Just a fun little scene, in my opinion, and I hope you all enjoy it. Feel free to let me know if you liked it, and what you liked about it.

**Good Night**

Stifling a yawn, Malia slid into bed, slipping under the covers carefully, trying to avoid disturbing Scott. He was passed out on the other side of the bed, flat on his back, one arm folded under his pillow, the other lying across his chest.

Rolling on her side, she watched him sleep, illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window, taking in his peaceful expression, something she didn't get to see enough of lately. Everybody was on pins and needles, waiting for Monroe to regroup, to make her next move, whatever elation they may have felt at the defeat of the Anuk-Ite cancelled out by the frustration that came with not knowing what was coming next. It was bad enough he'd pushed his plans for college back a year, unwilling to commit to leaving while a threat hung over Beacon Hills, over his friends and loved ones.

If she was being honest with herself, as much as it pained her to see him have to put off his dreams for now, a selfish part of her was happy he was sticking around. It gave them a chance to explore their new relationship, to spend time together, just the two of them. And if she felt a little guilty for thinking like that, it was washed away by the fact he was there, with her, close enough to touch whenever she got the urge. And that was an urge she felt often.

Unable to stop herself, she reached out, fingers finding his arm, gently tracing over his tattoo. She knew she should leave him be, should just let him sleep. He was exhausted, finding a distraction from the anxiety in the physical labour that came with doing what he could to repair the bullet damage inflicted on his house by the hunters. It was repetitive work, and the damage had been extensive, but it gave him, gave them something to do while their connected friends tried to hunt down a lead, any lead on Monroe's whereabouts.

Good for the mind, he'd told her one day as he took apart a cabinet too riddled with bullet holes to be saved, and easier on the bank account.

She was happy to help where she could, putting her own strength to good use. Unfortunately, between them, they knew next to nothing about fixing things. Argent and Derek were a help in that regard, getting them started, explaining what to do, then letting them go until they were too tired to continue. Then it was a shower and bed, rinse and repeat, day after day. And she enjoyed every second of it, the monotonous work just background noise as she spent all the time she could with the man she loved, talking, sharing ideas and hopes, deepening the connection between them.

Slowly, Scott stirred, shifting toward her as his eyes cracked open. She watched as he blinked blearily a couple times, before focusing on her, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Hey," he murmured, clasping a hand over hers where it rested on his arm.

"Hey," she said softly, mirroring his expression. "Go back to sleep. I was just..."

He waited a beat after she trailed off, then his smile turned teasing. "Just couldn't keep your hands off me, huh?"

She might have laughed, if his joke wasn't so close to the truth. Instead, she arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing about her lips, and said, "Careful, your ego is showing."

His grin deepened. "She says, as she continues touching me." When she went to pull away, he tightened the grip he had on her hand, holding it in place. "Hey, I never said I didn't like it. I—" His words were lost then as his mouth opened wide in a massive yawn.

"All right," Malia said, taking that as a sign, "time for sleep. It's gonna be an early morning tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," he mumbled through another yawn. "Drywall's supposed to be delivered."  As he spoke, words starting to slur, he shifted onto his side, turning his back to her. His hand was still grasping hers, and as he rolled, he pulled gently, drawing her toward him, bringing her arm over his side and clasping it to his stomach.

As she settled in behind him, tucking her knees behind his and laying her head on his pillow, Malia couldn't help but smile. It was something she'd been a little surprised by the first time they'd shared a bed and she'd instinctively wrapped herself around him. How he seemed perfectly happy to fall asleep like that, how he'd initiate it even. She knew, from previous experience, that some guys had a problem with being the little spoon, would resist it, but he never said a word. Given how he liked to hold her when they were sitting together, his arms around her, clasping her tight, it caught her off-guard.  And she had to admit she was a little curious, regardless of how much she liked it.

"Scott?" She kept her voice soft, in case he was sleeping, but after a second, he grunted. "Can I ask you something?" Another grunt. "How come you never complain about this?"

Shifting slightly, he drew in a deep breath through his nose, then let it out slowly. "'Bout what?" he muttered sleepily.

" _This_." She squeezed lightly, pressing her palm flat to his stomach. "Being the little spoon."

He huffed out an amused breath. "Everyone likes to be the little spoon. Makes you feel safe."

She let out a little snort at that. "Some people do _not_ like it. Trust me."

"Well, I do." He sounded more asleep than awake, voice heavy with fatigue, words muffled by his pillow. "They don't know what they're missing." For a second, he was quiet, and she almost thought he'd fallen asleep. Then, abruptly, he moved, rolling over to face her. Even in the dark, she could see his eyes, his face inches from hers, brow furrowed. "Is this bugging you or something?"

"No, no!" She waved off his words, the shrugged, a sheepish grin twisting her lips. "I don't know, I was curious." She paused, hesitating for a second. "It's just, I've never been with somebody who's so okay with it right from the start. I don't know. I'm over-thinking it. Am I being stupid?"

"No." Reaching out, he brushed some of her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a little smile. "They were the stupid ones. I mean, who doesn't like being held by a gorgeous woman as they fall asleep?"

Grinning at his words, she leaned in and kissed him, short, quick. "So, that's it, then?" Pulling back just a little bit, she looked into his eyes. "You really just like it?"

He was still for a brief second, then arched an eyebrow. "Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"I don't really care how I sleep. You've seen me. I sleep like the freaking dead. But I know _you_ like it." He paused, shrugging slightly. "When it comes down to it, what I _like_ is sleeping with you. I like falling asleep knowing you're here with me, and I like waking up and feeling you nearby. That's all I care about. If for some reason you really wanted to sleep in the bathtub, I'd find a way to make it work." A wide grin split his face as she chuckled, ducking her head slightly. "Seriously. That's just... how it is. Whatever you like, I'm down for. The fact I get to wake up with your arms around me this way, well, that's just a big bonus in my eyes. All right?"

Meeting his gaze, she nodded slowly, a little flushed, touched by his words, the sentiment. It always hit her hard whenever he voiced the little ways he cared about her, little hints of how he felt about her, about what they were doing together. He was a lot more open than she'd thought before they became an item, and she loved it, revelled in it every time he showed it.

"Good. How about we get some sleep now?"

 "Yeah, good idea."

Again, he rolled over, and again she took up her usual spot behind him, cuddled up to his back, arm looped over his side, holding him tight to her. Quiet descended in the room, their soft breathing the only sound disturbing the silence. Malia could feel her eyelids drooping, getting heavier, slumber drawing closer as she listened to the slow, steady beating of his heart.

Then, "Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"It would be okay, I guess, if sometimes you wanted to be the big spoon. Just sometimes," she quickly added, as she felt him tense, whole body going still. "We could, y'know, switch it up a bit. If you want to."

Before the laughter burst from his lips, she felt it welling up in his chest, his whole body reverberating with suppressed mirth before it broke free. She opened her mouth to say something, she wasn't sure what, but he cut her off. "I'll keep that in mind," he murmured through his chuckles, as his hand found hers and squeezed softly. "Good night, Malia."

"Good night."

 


	2. Busted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another way Scott and Malia could have gotten together under different circumstances. I'm not sure why I've written that so many times. I like how they did it in the show, for the most part. But whatever, that's what my brain keeps coming up with. Anyway, this was originally part of something longer that I never managed to fully work out. I wrote about half of it in October, and the other half tonight, so if you pick on a shift in the writing, that's probably why. Points to you if you can pinpoint exactly where the old bit left off and the new stuff picks up. Not a whole lot to this one, but I hope you like it anyway. Please try to leave a comment.

**Busted**

Quietly, Scott stepped into the room, eyes going immediately to Lydia. She was sitting on the end of her bed, hunched over a little, staring blankly at her phone. He could smell the salt from her tears, and his heart clenched. He hated seeing her like that, down, defeated, such a contrast from her usual self.

"Hey," he said softly, as he sank down next to her.

"Hey." Looking up, she flashed him a little smile, one that slipped back off her face just as quickly as it appeared.

"Are you okay?"

She let out a little sigh, hands clenching reflexively around her phone as she held it up and shook her head. "I tried to text Stiles, but he's not answering. I don't even know if they're getting through." Looking back at the screen, she grimaced, worry written all over her face. "I just want to know he's okay."

"Hey, hey." Reaching out, he gently hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. She came willingly, looking for whatever comfort she could find, leaning her head against his shoulder as she cuddled against him. "Stiles is fine," he said decisively, keeping his own doubts and worries firmly under wraps. "Liam is with him. And his dad. They'll take care of each other."

"Still wish he was here," she murmured and he squeezed her shoulder softly in agreement.

He wished they were all together, the whole pack. It felt wrong to be so spread out, split up, with no way for him to keep watch over the people he was closest to. He knew everybody would watch out for each other, had no doubts about their loyalty to him, to each other. But it wasn't nearly the same. He knew Argent and Parrish would keep his mother and Mason safe, just like Liam would protect Stiles, but he still wished it was him. It was his pack. He was the Alpha. It was his duty, and now that he couldn't fulfill it, it rankled him, deep down.

Lost in his thoughts, it took him several moments to realise Lydia had drifted off, her breathing slow and even. For a second, he looked down at her face, at the only real peace he'd seen there all day. Not for the first time, he wished he could make things easier for her, for everybody. It seemed like there was hardly a moment of calm, of normalcy lately. And he had a bad feeling that wasn't going to get better anytime soon.

A sudden creak of the floor had him looking to the door, and he smiled softly when he saw Malia standing there. She'd managed to get all the blood washed off, her face clear and hair damp, the jagged wound across her forehead starting to seal up, the edges turning pink. Her fingers fiddled with the cuffs of his borrowed hoodie as she looked at Lydia with clear worry in her eyes.

"How's she doing?" She kept her voice low, but he could hear the concern in it all the same.

"She's coping. And really missing Stiles."

As he spoke, Scott slowly slid back, gently pulling Lydia back onto the bed. She stirred a little when he moved away from her, but didn't wake and he carefully slid her under the covers, where she immediately curled on her side, clutching her pillow tight. Tucking the blankets around her, he patted her head softly, then slid off the bed and joined Malia in the doorway.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, as he stepped up next to her.

"I'm fine."

Normally, he'd take her at her word. There was no waver in her voice, no outward sign of her fear. But he'd seen her face tonight, after their fight and flight. He knew her, knew her moods, her expressions. And she'd been terrified. He'd recognised it immediately, because he'd felt the same way. It wasn't fear of pain or death. Malia was a fighter, and she'd gladly go to her death to save her best friends. They were alike in that, and it was part of what drew him to her. But they shared another similarity. The fear of losing their loved ones, the terror that came with a threat to the people they were closest to and knowing they might not be able to stop it or help them. She felt it just as keenly as he did, he knew, spotting the very same things in her he felt in himself. So he knew it wasn't something you just got over, even if things went well. That kind of terror stuck with you. He wasn't sure if it ever went away.

"You're not fine," he said, looking into her eyes, willing her to see that he understood, that she didn't have to hide. "I'm not fine. None of us are fine. I—" He let out a shuddering breath. "You don't have to pretend with me."

For a second, she didn't react. And then, suddenly, the tightly-sealed lid she had on her emotions was gone, and he nearly took a step back in shock. Even though he was aware of how deeply she felt, it was still a bit off-putting to see the sudden fear, the vulnerability there.

"I'm scared," she admitted, never breaking eye contact. "Scared we're not all gonna make it through this. I can't—" She paused, clearing her throat and blinking rapidly, and he stayed quiet, letting her work through it. "I can't lose anybody else, Scott." She drew in a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "I don't want anybody to die!"

Reacting instinctively, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her toward him. She came willingly, her arms going around him, holding him tight, searching for comfort in the warmth, the touch of another person.

"We'll be okay," he whispered, breathing in her scent, mixed with his own from the shirt she'd borrowed. "We're gonna be all right. All of us. I promise." He put as much conviction in his words as he could, trying desperately to hide just how little he believed it.

"You're a crap liar," she mumbled, drawing a tiny smile from him.

"Sorry." Pulling back, he smiled softly at her. "I'll try harder next time." She gave him an answering smile, slow and hesitant, but unmistakable, and suddenly, he had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss her, give into the impulses he'd been secretly nursing for so long. Clearing his throat, he let go of her and stepped back, carefully avoiding looking at her face. "You should get some sleep," he said gruffly, gesturing to the hallway. "God knows what's gonna happen tomorrow. I don't think Lydia'll mind if you take one of her guest rooms."

"What about you?"

Turning his head, he looked at Lydia's slumbering form for a moment, then turned back to her and shrugged. "I think I'm gonna stay in here. She's... she's not in a good place. I'm worried if she wakes up alone in the dark, she might lose it." She was strong, one of the strongest people he knew, but everybody had their breaking point, and he was seriously worried she was just about at hers. "I'll take the chair, watch over her."

Frowning, Malia reached out and grabbed his hand, drawing his surprised gaze down to where she was touching him as she gave a little tug, pulled him toward her. "Scott, you need to sleep too," she said in a serious voice, eyes locked on his. "If you're dead on your feet, you're going to get yourself killed, all right?"

"I know, but I can't. Lydia—"

She cut him off with a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes as she squeezed his hand. "Okay, go sit down." When he made no move toward the chair, she tugged on his hand, guiding him over to it. With a hand on his arm, she physically turned him, then gave him a gentle shove to his chest, pushed him down into the chair. Before he could react or say anything, she sank down onto his lap, tucking her legs under her and hanging an arm around his shoulders to keep herself in place.

"Malia, what—"

"If you're staying, I'm staying," she stated, looking into his confused eyes. He was holding his breath, overwhelmed by her scent, the feel of her on him, the warmth of her body so close, desperately trying not to let his feelings show on his face. "And we really need to talk. Since we could die tomorrow, this seems like it might be a good time for it."

He felt his heart skip a beat. "Talk? About what?"

One eyebrow went up, the corner of her mouth ticking up a little. "About us, Scott."

"Us?" His frantically scrambling brain decided playing dumb was the way to go.

"Don't play dumb." That took care of that. "You can't hide things from me. You know that. My sense of smell is just as good as yours. So is my hearing. Did you think I wouldn't notice how nervous you've been getting around me lately? Or how your heart would speed up when I came around. I mean, even if I was just a normal human, I'm pretty sure I would have picked up on how much you've been watching me." A little smile played about her lips as her fingers began absently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "You like me."

For a second, he froze, all his faculties going out the window in the face of this sudden confrontation. He didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react, didn't want to feel too hopeful about the look on her face, the one that seemed to be telling him his interest might not be quite as one-sided as he'd assumed it was. He could feel his jaw gaping open slightly, knew how stupid it must make him look, but just couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

"Scott? You in there?" She poked him in the chest, hard.

"Ow." The sudden pain jarred him out of his trance. Rubbing at his chest, he grimaced, then slowly met her gaze, a sheepish smile twisting his lips. "Busted, huh?"

"Busted," she confirmed, nodding, eyes never leaving his.

For a second, he just looked at her, at the face he saw in his dreams every night. "How long have you known?" he asked quietly, tightening the loose grip he had around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"Long enough." Moving her hand up from his chest, she gently cupped the side of his face. "Long enough to start wondering when you were going to say something." He opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head, sliding her thumb over his lips. "Long enough to wonder if maybe I was imagining things, seeing things that weren't there. Y'know,  because... because I wanted to see them. Because I wanted to believe I was making you nervous, making your pulse race. Because I wanted it to be true."

As she fell silent, expression open, vulnerable, just waiting for him to say something, his mind was racing, looking for the words. There were a lot of things he could have said, but it was almost like his brain was on autopilot when instead, he grinned and arched an eyebrow. "Wanted?"

For a second, she was motionless. Then, slowly shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. " _Want_. I want you. Is that clear enough for—"

Leaning in, he cut her off with a kiss, finally giving into the desire he'd been fighting for so long. And the reality was even better than the dream, her lips soft against his, but hungry, demanding as she shifted closer, pressing herself against him, giving him all he could have hoped for. And when they reluctantly pulled apart, it was all he could do not to let out the burst of elated laughter trying to break free as he leaned his head against the back of the chair, breathing hard, heart racing.

"Wow." Her voice was soft, almost inaudible.

A little huff of laughter did escape him then, as he straightened up, looked at her, an ear-to-ear smile stretching his lips. "Yeah, wow. You're _really_ good at that."

An answering smile briefly flashed across her face before she was kissing him again, harder this time, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him tight. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in her, in the physical sensations of their embrace, and the brightness, the lightness that came with finally giving in to what he'd wanted, what he needed. For that moment, for that instance, there was only her and him, all the darkness around them just background noise.

"I'm sorry," he murmured when pulled back to breathe.

Her brow knit, eyes finding his. "For what?"

"For not saying something sooner." Reaching up with both hands, he framed her face and grinned sheepishly. "I just... I don't know. I guess I thought it would be easier if I didn't say anything, and I convinced myself there was no way this was a mutual thing. And then everything went to shit, and suddenly it seemed like... like it was just better if I kept it to myself. No distractions. And..." Pausing, he dropped his hands and let out a heavy sigh. "And I was being selfish. I thought as long as I kept it to myself, you'd be here with me, and I needed you, _need_ you. But if I said something, that'd be it, y'know? Things would be weird and different and I just couldn't... I couldn't take that, y'know? Not right now. So, yeah, I'm sorry. I should have said something."

She was quiet for a moment, and he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears as she studied his face, her own expression closed, unreadable. Then, "I get it, Scott. I really do. But this?" She kissed him against, soft, sweet. "This has been building for awhile. I think... I think this was always where we were headed."

Even if he didn't feel the same way, he wouldn't have argued that. For months, he'd been gravitating toward her, searching her out when he needed someone, when he was alone and craving company, a friend, a laugh. When he saw something worth talking about, she was the one he wanted to tell. So many hours spent with her in his room, in hers, talking and laughing and joking, making the long summer months feel so short, so worthwhile. He was at the point he could pick out her scent, the sound of her heart from a crowd in a second, it was so familiar to him. And all that meant something, something big, something inescapable, inevitable.

There was no doubt. Whatever was between them had been coming for a long time. And he'd put it off, delayed it, because he was insecure, scared. But not anymore.

"You're right." Reaching up, he brushed some hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin. "And here we are. Finally. Just in time to die." She slapped his arm as he grinned, then sighed regretfully. "So much wasted time."

"Don't think about it like that."

He raised an eyebrow. "How should I think about it?"

"Like something great happening right when we need it to." She jerked her head back toward the bed, where Lydia was still fast asleep, snoring softly. "You're worried about her. You're worried about everybody. Everything seems so dark, so terrible, and something awful could happen at any moment." Pausing, she let out a humourless chuckle, shaking  her head. "God, our lives are so fucked. But," she quickly tacked on when he started nodding, "we've got this. We've got each other. And I don't know what that means, exactly, but there's no way it can be a bad thing. Not... not with how I feel about you."

He couldn't have stopped the smile from spreading across his face then if he wanted to. Rather than say something else, continue the conversation, he decided the best way to show her he agreed with her was to pull her close and kiss her again. And if the way she reacted, squirming closer, invading his senses in the best possible way was an indication, he'd made the right call.

"Okay," he finally said when they broke apart, "as great as this is, you think you could go to bed now? We have to get up in, like, four hours, and you really should rest." Reaching out, he ghosted his fingers over the wound on her forehead, frowning when she flinched slightly.

"I don't know." She cocked an eyebrow, lips narrowing into a thin line. "Are you gonna come with me?"

He wanted to. He may have never wanted anything more. The idea of crawling into a big, soft bed and fading into the blessed void of sleep sounded like the best thing in the world. That she'd be there with him, next to him was even better, sounded like heaven. But there was Lydia, his worries still sitting in the back of his mind, not even recent revelations able to fully push aside the responsibility he felt for his friends, his pack.

"I can't. I want to. But I can't."

"Then I'm staying too." Even as she spoke, she was moving, shifting in his lap, curling up, her head pillowed against his shoulder. "Wake me up if you need me," she murmured, as he looked on, bemused.

"That _can't_ be comfortable."

"I slept outside for eight years. Pretty sure I can handle one night in a chair." Tilting her head slightly, she smiled softly up at him. "I just got my hands on you, Scott. I'm not ready to let go yet. So shut up, close your eyes, and I'll see you in the morning."

It wasn't the way he would have envisioned their first time sleeping together, but as he smiled and leaned back, settling in for the night, Scott was happy. Everything was still a mess. Enemies still lurked around the corner, waiting for a chance to hurt him, hurt his friends. But for now, for tonight, with his arms, his senses, his mind full of her, things were okay.


	3. I'm Still Mad At You

**I'm Still Mad At You**

When Malia stormed into the kitchen, eyes glowing blue, teeth bared, claws out, Scott briefly wondered if he should play up his injury, try to use sympathy to his advantage. He'd seen her angry before, had been on the receiving end of it more than once, but never to this extent. She looked about ready to start spitting fire, all her attention focused on him.

Stopping at the corner of the table farthest from him, her gaze slid to his left, where Stiles was sitting, eyeing her nervously. "Out," she growled, and he immediately rose to his feet and headed for the door. On the way past, he dropped a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed in silent support, then carefully edged around her, like he was afraid to get too close. She paid him zero attention, her eyes refocusing on Scott and never straying, even when he made it past her and his sigh of relief floated back to them.

Silence reigned in the kitchen then as the two of them stared at each other, her fuming, him trying to decide on the best way to play things. "So..." he finally said, trying his best to smile disarmingly at her, "I guess you're a little angry with me, huh?"

If it was possible, she went even stiller, and he immediately realised he'd made the wrong choice.

"Angry?" Her voice came out like ice, cold, empty, completely devoid of any of the rage he could plainly see on her face. "No, not angry. I'm _pissed_." There was the anger. He couldn't help but flinch slightly when her voice suddenly cracked, all the missing emotion suddenly right there, no longer hidden. "What the _fuck_ ," she grated out between tightly-clenched teeth, slamming her hand down hard on the table, "were you thinking?"

Shifting, he pressed the ice pack in his hand harder against the back of his head and shrugged, grimacing when the movement sent a pulse of pain shooting through his aching skull. "I was thinking I didn't want to watch you get your head caved in."

A little growl slipped from her throat then, and she leaned down, staring him directly in the eye. "And you thought it was better somehow if that happened to you?"

Honestly, in the moment, he hadn't even thought about it. They'd been out in the preserve, chasing down a pair of shifters who'd been causing trouble around town for a week. It had taken the pack a couple days to track the two down, but they'd finally figured it out and went to deal with them. Stiles, Derek, and Argent came along, and the five of them quickly made their way to the cave they were living in. Only one was there at the time, and he took off running the second he spotted them coming, forcing them to give chase. That chase had ended in a small clearing, turning into a fight.

Maybe it was because they had the numbers, or maybe they were just caught up in the heat of battle, but for whatever reason, only Scott noticed when the missing shifter suddenly appeared from out of the trees. He'd had about half a second to process what he was seeing, that the wolf was hefting a large stone, getting ready to throw it, that his eyes were locked on Malia's back, and that she was completely unaware of what was coming.

With no time at all, he'd made the only decision he could. And even as he'd moved, trying to step between her and the oncoming stone, he was pretty sure he was going to be too late. But he wasn't, and as the pain exploded at the base of his skull, he'd felt relief. Until everything went dark and he felt nothing at all.

 "I did what I had to, Malia. And I'd do it again. What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and let it hit you?"

"Yes!" she cried, slapping the table again. "How do you think I felt? I turn around and you're just lying on the ground, not moving, blood everywhere. I thought you were _dead_!" For the first time, there was something other than fury in her voice, traces of worry, frustration, fear leaking in. And enough guilt to make the sudden ache that flared to life in his stomach just as painful as the throbbing in his head. "I thought you'd died protecting me. And I can't—I can't deal with that, Scott. I—I can't—" Her voice broke again, and he winced, hanging his head as she sank down in the nearest chair. "If I lost you," she continued slowly, fighting to keep her words steady, "it would kill me. If you died _for_ me, I..."

After she trailed off, Scott was silent, staring at the floor, fighting back his own emotions. The pain in her voice, he'd never wanted to hear that, never wanted to be the cause of it.

"I'm sorry." His voice was barely more than a whisper as he straightened up, met her gaze, her eyes faded back to their regular colour. He almost wished they were still blue. It might have taken the edge off what he was seeing in their depths. "I just wanted to keep you safe."

Her jaw clenched, fingers drumming on the table. "It's not your job to protect me."

Pursing his lips, he shook his head, eyes focused on hers. "It kind of is." She opened her mouth, probably to protest, but he cut her off. "If it had been you in my position, what would you have done?"

That caught her short. Her fingers stilled, and for a moment, she just stared at him, jaw working soundlessly, unable to answer. Because they both knew what she'd do, that she wouldn't hesitate. In the next instant, she almost seemed to deflate, all the fight going out of her as she doubled over in her chair and buried her face in her hands.

"Damn it, Scott," she muttered, words muffled and dripping weariness. "That's not the point."

"I kinda think it is," he replied mildly, flashing her his first genuine smile of the night.

"No, it's _not._ " The frustration was back as she lifted her head and frowned at him. "This isn't about what I would or wouldn't do. It's about you _did_ do, which was stupid and dangerous and—"

"And I'd do it again." Her eyes narrowed, but he pressed on, sliding his free hand across the table toward her. "I'm sorry, but I love you, Malia, and if that means I've got to do stupid, painful things like tonight to keep you safe, I'm gonna make that trade every single time. And I know it's gonna be a fight every time, but it's still worth it to me." Slowly, she slid her hand over his, their fingers lacing together, and he smiled. "And when you do it for me, I'll probably be the one who's pissed and scared and going out of my mind. But I'll deal with it because I know it means you love me, that you'd rather get hurt than see me go through that."

"We're both idiots."

A full-on grin broke out at her quiet assessment, the majority of tension still lingering in the air between them finally disappearing. "No arguments here." Gently, he tugged on her arm, and with a sigh, she came to him, sinking down sideways on his lap, sliding her arm around his back, careful not to jar him. He ducked his head and held still as she carefully looked him over, content to just appreciate her warmth, her scent, the feel of her close to him as she checked his injuries out up close.

"Jesus, Scott," she murmured as she took the ice pack from him and moved it up slightly, drawing a hiss of pain from him before the numbing kicked in and he relaxed, straightening back up a bit, sliding his arm around her. "How bad does it hurt?"

"Right now? Not too bad. Kinda focused on other things." He grinned at her as he squeezed her waist softly, earning himself an eye-roll and an exasperated huff. "I'll be fine. Nothing a long shower and twelve solid hours of sleep won't cure."

"I thought you weren't supposed to sleep with a head wound."

"Myth. My mom's a nurse. Trust me." She let out a little chuckle at that, and he grinned back, more relieved than he would have thought to see a some amusement on her face and not rage or pain. "There's my girl."

"Hey, I'm still mad at you."

It took every bit of willpower he had not to laugh, but he managed, solemnly nodding. "Understood. Oh, did you at least get the guy?"

She growled at that. "Ugh, no. Derek got to him before I could."

"That _might_ be a good thing."

"Maybe," she allowed, her lips twitching slightly. "I probably would have torn his head right off. I kinda thought he'd just killed my dumbass boyfriend, so I wasn't really thinking all that clearly."

"Sorry," he teased, leaning in to capture her mouth in a quick kiss. The movement made his head hurt and his neck ache, but in his mind, that was an easy price to pay. And when he pulled back and saw that little smile on her face, the one he loved so much, he couldn't stop himself from reaching up, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. "You can get the next one."

She arched an eyebrow. "Is this you promising not to do anything stupid then?"

"I can only promise to try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to this one, just a short piece set at some point after Malia and Scott get together. Doesn't really matter when, but probably not a super long time after, because I figure it wouldn't take very long before one of them put themselves in danger to protect the other. I wanted it to be pretty serious at the start and then trail off into the humour/fluff by the end, and I think that's what I managed. Hope you enjoy it. If you did, please leave a comment, tell me what you liked about it.


	4. A Lack of Subtlety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an old piece, one of the first things I wrote for the fandom, that I was never super happy with. When I originally wrote this, I didn't have a great grasp on the characters, I didn't have their voices down yet, and I was never quite able to nail the ending down in a satisfactory way. Which is why I think I never bothered posting it here, just left it over on FF. But I did some editing tonight, and I think I've managed to even it out a bit, so here it is. Enjoy.

**A Lack of Subtlety**

Crouching next to a fallen log, Scott tilted his head and inhaled deeply through his nose. The usual mix of forest smells were there, wet leaves and earth, rotting wood and the countless little creatures and insects that lived in and around it. And on top of that, the unmistakable scent of another werewolf, almost human but not quite, just a tinge of that animal lurking under the surface.

"He definitely went this way."

Behind him, Malia hummed an agreement. As he rose to his feet, she stepped up next to him, arm brushing his, eyes glowing brilliant blue in the dark. "Look, there." She pointed to a narrow gap between two trees off to their right, then led him over to it. Kneeling, she grabbed a broken branch off the ground and held it up for inspection. "He must have come through here." He opened his mouth to agree, but she cut him off, brow furrowed and nostrils flaring as her eyes darted around. "You smell that?"

Again, he took a deep breath, his jaw clenching when he picked up on what she already had. "Yeah. Fear." Glowing his eyes, he peered through the gap, frowning when all he saw was more trees. "He's gotta know somebody's after him."

" _Great_."

He huffed out an amused breath at her tone as he held out a hand and lifted her back to her feet. "Could be worse," he said as they continued on, moving slowly but steadily forward, deeper into the woods. "He could be hiding his scent."

"Shut up!" She dug an elbow into his side, drawing a chuckle from him as he dodged out of the way. "Don't jinx us. And pay attention. You're better at this than me."

Which was true, but didn't mean he was having an easier time of it than she was. They couldn't go too quick and risk losing the scent, so it was a slow process, pausing every dozen yards to sniff around and make sure they were still on the right track. It was tedious work, especially in the dark, under the trees where only a faint bit of moonlight managed to filter down. Of course, he'd known he was in for a long night when he'd agreed to lend Argent a hand with his plan. But considering the circumstances, it wasn't like he could have refused.

It had all started with a series of break-ins at the campgrounds around Beacon Hills. At night, empty cabins were broken into, food and supplies stolen. At first, the Sheriff thought it was just regular criminals robbing easy targets. But then the break-ins evolved into assaults, as occupied cabins and even some tents were hit, the people in them reporting being attacked by wild animals who moved quick, cut deep, and whose eyes glowed in the dark. When two victims, two teenagers staying in different camps, ended up badly clawed up on the same night, Stilinski had reached out to Argent for help. The former hunter had laid a trap, very openly loading up a cabin with supplies, creating an irresistible target. The plan was to wound whatever showed up and have Scott track it back to its base, and its partner or partners.

At first, everything had gone according to plan. Mostly, anyway. The werewolf had attacked as Argent waited in the cabin, Scott and Malia lurking in the woods nearby, close enough to listen in but far enough not to spook their target. When the gunshots rang out, they'd both raced in to find the wolf gone, and Argent nursing a nasty gash on his leg. He'd given them a tiny tracking device and sent them out with instructions to follow it to wherever it was staying, and then text him.

For Scott, things had started off quick, heart racing and blood pumping as he raced through the trees, Malia on his heels, easily picking up on the anger and disappointment hanging in the air. But as time went on, and their quarry began to calm down, it got harder and harder to pick up his trail, until finally they'd been forced to slow to a crawl, sniffing around trees and rocks for any sign of him.

His efforts weren't exactly helped by the fact that with every inhale, most of what he could smell was her. Which wasn't unexpected, given how close she was. And he was sure he had to be interfering with her sense of smell too. But lately he'd been unusually aware of her, for reasons he was trying really hard not to think too deeply about. There was other stuff to think about now, like the potentially dangerous shifter they were chasing, so he pushed through his issues and did his best to keep them on the right path.

"Are you getting anything?"

He could hear the frustration in her voice, and couldn't blame her. "Not much," he admitted, pausing to sniff the air, mentally filtering out her slightly floral scent, searching for any traces of their target. "I, uh, I actually do think he's hiding now," he admitted sheepishly. "Or trying to, anyway."

She let out what had to be the heaviest sigh he'd ever heard. "Damn it, Scott. I told you not to jinx us."

"Sorry," he offered, as he leaned into to sniff around the base of a tree. There it was, just the faintest hint of the scent he was looking for. "I guess I should also probably apologise for dragging you into this," he said softly, as he wandered to the next tree, confirming they were heading in the right direction. "You could have been at home sleeping." He looked up and caught her eye, lips quirking up in a little smirk. "Or maybe studying."

He couldn't help but tease her a bit on that subject. After the Wild Hunt left town, he'd replaced Lydia as her primary study buddy. He'd heard enough about how much she loathed the activity to know he was walking into a difficult situation, but it was only once he actually had to try and keep her focused that he learned just how bad it was. It didn't take long to realise he just wasn't the taskmaster she needed. So instead, he'd taken to teasing and joking to try and keep her from cracking under the pressure as she tried to pass summer school and graduate. Movie nights and quiet conversations mixed in with study sessions as they'd grown closer, turning to each other as the rest of the pack dealt with their own relationships and lives.

Even now, plodding through the dark woods, no idea what he was about to find, Scott felt comfortable. Because of her. Because that's where they were. Two people comfortable together, whether he was trying to coach her through some homework, poking fun at her irrational love of old horror movies, or they were just sitting together, talking about stuff that didn't matter at all.

"Oh, God forbid I miss any of that." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable, drawing a grin from him. "I think I should thank you for helping me avoid it."

"You're welcome."

"I said I think I _should_ , not that I _do_."

His grin widened as they faded back into silence, concentrating on the job at hand. The scent wasn't getting any stronger, but he was still picking up traces, winding through the trees and brush, moving steadily west.

Focused on tracking, he didn't realise Malia had moved closer, falling into step directly beside him, until she spoke. "You know," she said slowly, "when you texted and asked me if I wanted to do something with you tonight, this wasn't really what I pictured."

"Oh?" Turning to look at her, he tilted his head and shot her a bemused smile. "What did you think I meant?"

"I thought you were finally asking me out."

Scott nearly tripped over his own feet. Stumbling slightly, he caught himself against a tree before he could face-plant, and turned back, eyes wide and cheeks burning hot. She was watching him with a smirk on her face, eyebrow arched in challenge. His first instinct was to stammer out some kind of joke, but in that moment, looking at her, at her knowing expression, all the thoughts he'd been suppressing flashed through his mind. All the late night conversations about nothing, all the jokes, the teasing, the hours spent alone together. All the times he was bored, picked up his phone, and scrolled to her number before he even thought about what he was doing. She'd gone from a friend, from one of the pack to the person he talked to and thought about the most with such ease he almost hadn't noticed.

Almost. But not quite. Because he had to admit he _had_ noticed her, a growing awareness in his mind of who and what she was, in general and to him. He'd felt the bond forming, deepening as they grew closer, but intentionally never really let the concept of the two of them together fully crystallise in his mind. Because she was a friend, and he didn't want to jeopardise that. Because he couldn't read her mind and didn't want to screw up what had become one of the most important relationships in his life. And because it was much easier to let things lie than to pick them up and try to do something else with them, something new, something different.

Except now it was obvious he hadn't been the only one to pick up on the change in their relationship. And unlike him, she apparently had no problem just coming right out with it, laying her cards out on the table for him, for everybody to see.

Confronted with the reality of the situation, he did the only thing he could. "Would you..." He trailed off and cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, is that something you'd be, y'know, interested in?" He grimaced at the slight waver, the hesitancy in his voice, even as he met her gaze.

She rolled her eyes. "I already said yes, didn't I? The real question is... are you asking?"

He only hesitated for a second. He couldn't help it, no matter how close they'd grown, no matter how much the idea of being with her intrigued him. She was still his best friend's ex. She'd been close to Kira. There were complications, things to consider if they were really going to move forward. But all that flashed through his mind and was immediately discarded. They were thoughts, excuses, and nothing more. Because none of them mattered. She mattered. _They_ mattered.

"Yeah." Then stronger, more confident. "Yeah, I am. Malia, I really like you. Like, _really_ like you. And I..." He trailed off, stumbling over his words, unsure of what exactly to say. What he wanted to do was kiss her. He'd always been more of an action guy, finding it way easier to convey what he was feeling nonverbally. But she was looking at him like she expected something, so after a second, he gave the mental equivalent of shrug. "Go out with me?"

He almost winced at how blunt and awkward it sounded, but when she just nodded and reached for him, he thought the smile that formed on his face might crack it in half, it was so wide. He was sure he looked crazy, especially given the setting, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care in that moment. A gorgeous girl he really liked was interested in him, and even though they were currently out in the middle of nowhere, hunting down a violent supernatural criminal, all he could feel was the wonderful warmth in his chest he hadn't experienced in a long time. The soft smile on her own face as she took his hand, intertwining their fingers together, only made it that much better, that much realer.

Hand in hand, the pair slowly started off back down the path. The abrupt shift from friends to something more, the physical contact that hadn't been there before was completely without awkwardness, something that surprised him a bit. At least until he thought about it a little more. While it was true they'd never held hands like a couple, Malia had never been shy about touching him or getting in his personal space while they were hanging out. She'd steal food right out of his hand without hesitation, or hug him without thought when she was particularly happy or excited. This was different, obviously more intimate, but familiar at the same time, and he found it all exhilarating.

"So," he finally said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them, "how did you..." He trailed off, unsure of exactly how to voice his question.

"How did I know you wanted me?" She arched an eyebrow as he nodded sheepishly. "Come on, Scott. I'm not _blind_."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

A knowing smirk twisted her lips. "I saw how you were looking at me. Lydia saw you looking at me. Even Stiles saw it. And _that_ was a fun conversation, let me tell you." She shook her head slowly, then reached out to pat him on the cheek softly. "Subtlety really isn't your strong suit, Scott."

He felt his jaw drop as his mind began to race, memories of the last couple of months playing in his head. Had he really been watching her? He hadn't meant to. He'd actively tried not to. Sure, sometimes he couldn't help but notice the way her whole face lit up when she smiled. And how could he not look when the sun happened to hit her hair just right, making it look like she had a halo? And...

"Oh, man." He closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead, trying to ignore the little amused breath she let out as the realisation dawned on his face. "I really was watching you, wasn't I? I, uh, I'm sorry?"

"Hey, I didn't mind at all. It's not like I wasn't watching you back. I was just wondering when you'd finally make a move. Honestly, I was gonna give you another week to figure it out, and if you still hadn't made a move, I was just gonna jump you."

"Wow." He grinned and squeezed her hand. "Kinda wishing we could have gone that route now."

She let out a little snort and nudged his shoulder with her own. "Shut up. Besides, if we'd done that, I never would have got to hear you grunt 'Go out with me?'. Which was super romantic, by the way."

His grin widened at her teasing tone. "Yeah, I'm a real poet at heart."

"You should have just kissed me."

Before he could respond, the faint sound of voices suddenly reached his ears and Scott stopped dead, tilting his head, concentrating. Malia was a second behind him, her mouth already opening to ask what was wrong when she picked up the sound too and froze, listening. They were too far away to pick up any specific words, but it was definitely two people talking. Maybe more. He held his finger to his lips until she nodded, then crouched down and began to creep forward as quietly as he could. He could feel her behind him, could hear her heart beat, strong and steady, but forced himself to push that new hyper-awareness to the side for now and concentrate on the task at hand.

As they drew close enough to start picking out actual words, he paused and turned back to her. Pointing at himself, he motioned to the left. When she jerked her own thumb to the right, he nodded, then reached out and grabbed her hand again. They shared a quick smile, a brief squeeze of the hand, then went their separate ways, sliding into the trees and heading toward the source of the voices.

Slowly, carefully, he moved between the trees, calling on every bit of experience he had to keep from making a noise. He knew if they were really listening, he wouldn't be able to mask his approach, but from the sound of it, they were arguing, not paying as much attention to their surroundings as they should have been. It was enough cover to allow him to creep right up to the edge of the trees, which ended abruptly, replaced by an opening clearing. Crouching down behind a half-rotted stump, he scanned the area. In the very middle of it sat a log cabin that had seen better days, rundown, moss-covered, but still standing. And in front of the door were two figures, the two he'd heard from the path.

"I'm telling you I lost them," the one on the left insisted, frustration straining his voice. There was a slight southern accent there, weak but audible.

"And I'm telling you there's no way you can know that." The one on the right, the larger of the two, turned toward the trees and pointed, maybe ten feet to Scott's right. His voice was deeper, rougher, sounded older. "They could be out there right now. You said they were like us?"

"Yeah, I think so. Maybe." He didn't sound sure, a slight hesitant waver in his voice. "They caught my trail so fast, they have to be, right?"

The other let out a weary sigh and shook his head. "If they're like us, then they could have tracked you back here, idiot." Shaking his head, he growled low in his throat, then grabbed his companion by the shoulder and shoved him back toward the door. "Inside. Cameron's gonna want to hear about this." The smaller man muttered something under his breath, but didn't argue, wrenching open the door and stepping inside, followed closely by his friend.

Once the door swung closed behind them, Scott rocked back on his heels and let out the breath he'd been holding. Taking out his phone, he quickly texted Argent their location, giving silent thanks he had a signal so far out in the woods.

As he returned his attention to the cabin, he heard a twig snap off to his right and went still. Turning, he glowed his eyes, only relaxing when he saw it was Malia approaching. When she dropped into a crouch next to him, their hands found each other once again, drawn together instinctually.

"Did you see them?" she whispered, the corner of her mouth ticking up in a little smile at the way he wrapped his hand around hers.

"Yeah. There were two, and from the way they were talking, there's at least one more."

"Argent?"

"Already texted him." Even as he spoke, his phone went off and he glanced down at it. "He's on his way. Twenty minutes."

"Hmm. So, I guess we just wait?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Scott turned to look at her, and found her looking back, face much closer than he'd expected. Even in the dark, he could make out her features, her eyes, her lips. And suddenly it didn't matter that there were three or more potential threats less than a hundred yards away. All that mattered was her, being with her, showing her how he felt now that he could allow himself to admit it.

They came together hard, harder than he expected, hard enough to knock him off his feet and flat on his back. He might have protested at the sudden shift in position, except suddenly his arms were full of Malia, her lips on his, the comforting weight of her stretched out on top of him. His arms went around her reflexively as she squirmed in a way he probably would have found indecent if his mind wasn't entirely fogged by her feel, her taste, her presence. He felt her hands on his face, holding him where she wanted, taking control in a way neither Allison nor Kira ever had, in a way he found incredibly sexy. And when she finally broke away, both needing a second to catch their breath, he couldn't believe it had taken him this long figure things out.

"You wouldn't believe how long I've been waiting to do that," she whispered breathlessly, looking down into his eyes.

He couldn't help but grin up at her. "Hope it lived up to your expectations."

She pursed her lips, amusement dancing in her eyes as she leaned back down. "Practice makes perfect."

He was all for that. But as she kissed him again, he heard the sound of a door opening and immediately froze. Cursing the timing, and himself for letting his passion get the better of him when he should have been paying attention, he gently pushed her away and jerked his head back toward the cabin. The confused disappointment on her face disappeared as soon as she realised what was going on, quickly replaced by annoyance as she gritted her teeth and growled low in her throat.

"Later," he whispered as she rolled off him.

They lied side by side, listening as one, two, three sets of boots crunched over the hard ground behind them. Holding his breath, Scott tried to calm his racing heart before one of them picked up on it.

"You hear anything?" It was the southern guy again.

"No, nothing." The second guy. "Cameron?"

There was a momentary pause, then a new voice, a woman's voice rang out. "Somebody's out there. Another Alpha. I can feel them."

Scott swallowed, throat suddenly dry. Another Alpha, she'd said. Was she an Alpha? Or did this little group have yet another member hiding away somewhere? Either way, he didn't like it. He tilted his head enough to look at Malia and saw his apprehension mirrored on her face.

"What's our move, Cam?" Big guy again, deferring to the woman. Which probably, _hopefully_ meant she was the Alpha, that there were only three of them.

"Time to go," was her reply. "We've overstayed our welcome here, I think. Get everything packed up, now." Even as she spoke, the other two headed back inside. Scott held his breath for a second as she lingered in the clearing, before she too turned and disappeared back inside the cabin.

"Oh, shit," Malia muttered, turning on her side to face him as soon as the door closed. "How long until Argent gets here?"

Scott checked his phone and groaned softly. "Too long." Letting his head fall back against the ground, he closed his eyes and considered his options. These wolves had hurt people. That was the part that he couldn't let go of. They'd wilfully attacked people, putting some in the hospital, and stolen their stuff. He had no reason to believe they wouldn't do the same thing somewhere else if they got away. Which meant his decision had already been made for him. Opening his eyes, he looked at Malia and sighed. "What do you think?"

"We can take them."

He couldn't help but grin at her confidence. "Damn right." After climbing to his feet, he reached down and pulled her up next to him. They turned as one to face the cabin, hand in hand. "Think we can get over there without them hearing us?"

"Probably not."

"Yeah." He paused for a second, then caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. "You ready?"

The answering grin that spread across her face then was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Always."

**-l-l-l-l-**

Reaching up, Scott accepted Argent's hand, shooting him a grateful nod as he was helped back to his feet. Straightening, he stretched slowly, testing his body, taking stock of his injuries. There was a dull ache in his left shoulder where the Alpha woman had caught him with a hard shot, and he could feel blood trickling down the side of his neck where her claws had caught him, but the pain wasn't bad, was already fading. He was sore, tired, a little bloody, but otherwise, he was okay.

"You all right?" Argent asked, looking him over, brow creased with worry.

He waved off the concern and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Already healing." As he spoke, he watched Parrish load one of the handcuffed and unconscious shifters, the southern one, into the back of his cruiser. Lips pursed, he looked at the former hunter and arched an eyebrow, questioning. "Tranquilizers?"

"Yes. New product I'm trying out. And it worked well." Argent frowned. "Well, it worked well on them. Not so much on her." He nodded toward the Sheriff's car.

Next to the car, on the ground, was Cameron, lying on her stomach, arms handcuffed behind her back. Malia was standing over her, eyes glowing vivid blue, one foot pressed firmly between her shoulder blades, pinning the Alpha to the ground as she cursed, growled, and screamed to be released. As they looked on, she snarled something, then stomped down hard on the werewolf, driving all the air from her lungs, temporarily silencing the increasingly incoherent yelling.

Both men winced at the harsh treatment and shared a look, before Scott pointed toward them and started to walk that way. "I think I should probably say something before she..."

"Good call," Argent replied quickly, motioning him onward.

Malia spotted him coming before he was halfway across the clearing, and her expression immediately lightened, some of the tension bleeding out of her. Her eyes slowly faded back to normal as he approached, zeroing in on his wounded neck. "Are you okay?" she asked, as Cameron groaned in pain under her foot.

"Yeah, I'm all right." Tilting his head, he pulled back his collar to show her how insignificant the wound was. "See? Barely even bleeding."

It was only then, as her shoulders slumped and she let out a sigh of relief, that he realised just how worried she'd been. He'd heard her scream of rage when he'd gone down under Cameron's claws, but he'd been too focused on fighting, on surviving, to let it sink in. And then things had abruptly shifted with the sudden arrival of Argent, Parrish, and the Sheriff. She'd been the one to pull the Alpha off him, the only one with the physical strength to keep her restrained when the tranquilizers hadn't immediately knocked her out like they'd done to her Betas. She'd stuck with her quarry even while he'd been lying on the ground, trying to get his breath back.

Reaching out with both arms, Scott caught her hands and gently pulled her toward him, off the grounded werewolf. Sheriff Stilinski immediately took her place, but neither teenager noticed, too caught up in each other now that the fight was over and they were reunited.

"I thought she'd really hurt you," she admitted, voice soft, as her arms went around his waist.

He smiled, slowly shook his head. "Nope. Just got a lucky shot in."

She growled low in her throat, eyes flashing blue again as she glared over her shoulder at the fallen Alpha. "She's lucky that's all it was." There was a promise of pain in her voice that probably should have made him uncomfortable, but he couldn't find it in himself at the moment. He knew Malia, knew what she was, how she was. It was concern, concern for him. Had the situation been reversed, despite his principles, he wasn't entirely sure he'd react any differently. Not now.

When he suddenly leaned in, she mirrored his movements, meeting him halfway, tilting her head to accept his kiss. It was different this time, slower, deeper, more about communicating relief than just a visceral need to finally be close. And not for the last time, Scott wondered how he'd managed to deny his feeling for so long, to willfully ignore what had been staring him in the face.

Lost in each other, neither noticed the looks they were drawing from the two cops or the former hunter until the latter cleared his throat loudly. Pulling back slightly, Scott met his amused gaze over Malia's shoulder and cocked an eyebrow in question.

"Come on," he said, gesturing to his SUV. "I think you guys have done enough for tonight. I'll take you both home."

He nodded, and after sharing a quick smile, the two headed for the vehicle, hands clasped tightly together. As they passed by, he watched Argent pause next to the Sheriff and hand him a gun. "If she tries anything, put one in her shoulder. Wolfsbane." The hard edge in his voice seemed to carry weight with Cameron, who immediately stopped her groaning and complaining.

Once they climbed into the SUV and settled in, Malia leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She fiddled absently with one of the buttons on his shirt as he slid his arm around her, liking the way she fit against him. The comfortable silence between them lasted until after Argent got behind the wheel and slowly pulled out of the clearing, following the overgrown path that led out of the woods. When the former hunter caught his eye in the rear-view mirror and cocked an eyebrow, Scott just smiled and shrugged.

"Hey, Scott?" Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, breath warm against his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind if I stayed at your house tonight?" She arched an eyebrow and flashed him an impish grin as he looked into her eyes. "I don't know about you, but I think we've dragged this out long enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's that. Still don't know how I feel about it. There are bits in it I really like, even if the work as a whole doesn't coalesce quite like I wanted it to. A lot of the elements in here are ones I'm fond of, and that I've used in other pieces multiple times, and yet I haven't been able to make them all work together. And the title is as much a dig at my effort here as it is a reference to the characters. But I hope you liked it anyway. Let me know what you think.


	5. Thinking

**Thinking**

"I hope you're happy."

Malia's words, soft but with an accusatory edge, drew Scott from the pleasurable haze he'd been blissfully lost in for the last few hours. Rolling onto his side, his hand found hers, fingers intertwining as he looked down at her, her hair fanned out over her pillow, cheeks flushed, expression happy, satisfied. Probably pretty much an exact copy of his own face, he realised, as he caught her eye and arched an eyebrow.

"Hmm?"

"I hope you're happy," she repeated, lips twisting in a little smirk. With her free hand, she gestured down, where the sheets were pooled over their legs, and kicked weakly. "Pretty sure my legs are never gonna work properly again."

Chuckling, he drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "I don't remember hearing any complaints earlier."

Throwing her arm over her face, she let out a breathless little laugh and slowly shook her head. "Nope, definitely no complaints. Just saying." Shifting slightly, she peeked up at him and grinned, eyes sparkling. "It's almost like you missed me or something."

Despite her teasing tone, Scott couldn't bring himself to smile. "I did," he said solemnly, thumb brushing absently across her knuckles as he looked into her eyes. Three weeks she'd been gone, off with Derek to bail Peter out of some trouble he'd run into across the country. Three weeks of sleeping alone, tossing and turning and wishing she was there with him. Three weeks of days spent working at the animal clinic and visiting his mother, his friends, and trying to ignore how empty he felt without her around. "I missed you so damn much."

Her grin softened at his tone. "I know. I missed you too." With a gentle tug on his hand, she guided him toward her, and he came willingly, sinking into a soft, slow kiss, lingering until all he could taste was her. And when they separated, she just smiled and shook her head. "Three weeks is too long to be apart."

"Three weeks and two days," he murmured against her skin as he kissed his way down her jaw to her neck.

She huffed out an amused breath that turned into a moan halfway through as his lips found the right spot. "You were counting the days?" she asked breathlessly, tilting her head to give him better access. "Wow, you really did miss me, huh?"

Forget the days, he'd been counting the hours. Not intentionally, but he couldn't help it. It had been the longest they'd been apart in years. He was used to not seeing her for a couple of days, a weekend maybe, when she was gone for work, or when he was studying for an upcoming test or exam and she cleared out of their apartment to avoid distracting him. But that was it. He could count on his fingers the number of times they'd gone more than a few days without seeing each other since they'd become a couple, most of those coming back during the struggle with Monroe, when the pack had been forced to spread out to try and deal with her plots all over the country. He'd hated it then, and he hated it now. A week felt like a year. Three weeks felt like an eternity.

It was only worsened by the fact it had come out of nowhere. They'd come back to Beacon Hills for the summer like they always did, to reconnect with the pack, with friends and family, and spend time together without school hanging over him, stressing him out. And then suddenly Derek was back in town, asking for help, dragging her off, and leaving him behind because he had commitments to Deaton, to the clinic that he couldn't just walk out on.

Burying his face in her neck, Scott closed his eyes and just breathed for a second, taking in her scent, mixed with his own. For weeks, he'd cursed that scent, lingering on their sheets, just a reminder of what he couldn't have. It was remarkable just how quickly things could shift, because in that moment, he could have sworn he'd never smelled anything better.

Lost in his thoughts, it took him a second to realise she was talking again. Pulling back, he looked down at her, brow furrowed. "What was that?"

The corners of her mouth quirked up in a knowing smirk. "I asked if anything interesting happened while I was gone. I didn't really get a chance to talk to anybody earlier, remember? _Somebody_ was a little too anxious to get me to himself."

It had been just after dinner and he'd been sitting at his mom's kitchen table, chatting with Argent, when he'd heard Derek's car pull into the driveway. The moments after that sort of blurred together. He remembered tearing out of the house, everything else pushed aside in his eagerness to see her again. Seeing her, holding her, kissing her were the only things on his mind, and he'd done just that. But it wasn't enough, and maybe five minutes later, they were gone, on his bike, heading to their apartment for some much needed privacy.

"Can you blame me?"

Malia grinned. "No. It's nice to feel wanted. " Her smile turned teasing. "Actually, if this is what happens every time I get back, I may start taking more trips."

"No, please don't," he said through a grimace. "I don't think I could take it. Seriously. And I don't think our friends could take it either." At her bemused look, he shrugged sheepishly. "I was kinda, uh, on edge while you were gone. I guess I was sort of unintentionally being a dick, and they noticed, and it got a little ugly."

Her brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"I kinda, sorta, maybe, uh... beat up Liam."

For a second, she was silent, just staring up at him. Then she let out a noise that was half-amused, half-disbelieving. " _What_?"

He sighed. "Yeah... I just... yeah. Not on purpose or anything," he hastily added when her eyes widened. "I guess Stiles saw I was acting a little off and figured out why. He and Liam decided I just needed to blow of some steam or something. Said I was 'pent up'. Somehow they settled on sparring. Bunch of geniuses." Pausing, he shook his head as her lips started to twitched, amusement flashing across her face. "Maybe they are geniuses, actually, because it sort of worked. I just got a bit too into it. Liam's fine and everything, and I did apologise." He scratched at his neck, embarrassed. "They, uh, they didn't bring it up again."

At that, she lost it, whole body shaking with mirth as laughter spilled from her mouth. "Oh, man," she gasped out as he look on, unable to keep the grin off his own face at the sight of her so amused. "I'm sorry I missed that. It's good though." Reaching out, she slugged his shoulder playfully. "Gotta remind them who the Alpha is every once in awhile, Scott."

His own laughter joined hers then as he rolled over onto his back and shook his head. "Ugh, I felt so bad after. I'm trying to apologise, he's trying to tell me he's fine. Stiles can't make up his mind on whether to get in between us or just laugh, so he's mostly just, like, twitching." He huffed out a breath through his nose. "Looking back, it was kind of funny. But in the moment, I felt like shit."

"Eh, Liam's tough. I wouldn't lose any sleep over it." He just grunted. That was exactly what Liam had said to him. "So, was that it, then? You just went back to being a dick and everybody just took it?"

He chuckled. "No. It turns out Parrish built a little gym at his place, something a little more suited for people like us to work out on. I've been beating the shit out of a punching bag for the last two weeks. It helped."

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it really had helped at least take the edge off. He'd spend an hour in Parrish's basement each morning, pummelling the heavy bag, taking out some of his frustration and leaving himself with a mostly clear head for work. And if he needed a second session before bed, the deputy had given him a key and an open invite, one he'd taken advantage of a few times.

"Whatever. At least you didn't have to deal with Peter." Rolling onto her side, she frowned and shook her head. "He kept kicking the back of my seat and pretending he wasn't. The _entire_ way back. He's like a annoying kid, an annoying asshole of a kid. I wanted to tie him up and stuff him in the trunk but Derek wouldn't let me." Pausing, she grimaced. "Oh, and guess who knows the words to every country song ever released and sings them at the top of his lungs regardless of what's actually on the radio."

"I'm gonna guess Peter."

"Congratulations. You're right. You don't win a prize. You just get to hear me bitch about him for the next month."

Chuckling, he reached out and clasped a hand to the side of her head, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "I'll take it," he said, as he leaned in for a kiss, soft and sweet. "If it means you're here with me, I'll take it."

A smile lit up her face then and she pulled him in close, their mouths meeting in a gentle kiss. One that quickly grew heated as their desire flared, lips moving hungrily together, hands clutching at skin, bodies pressed together. The world faded away again, Scott's focus narrowed down to her, her taste, how she felt under him, warm and soft and perfect. Until she suddenly pulled away and gave his shoulder a shove.

Shaking himself, he narrowed his eyes, even as he obligingly rolled over. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she reassured him. "I'm just thirsty. That was a real workout, and I'm not done yet." He grinned at that, watching as she sat up and stretched. "Please tell me we've got something other than Fresca. How you drink that crap I'll never understand."

"It's good. You just have terrible taste in drinks." She shot him a glare and he raised his hands, placating. "Sorry, sorry. Don't worry, there's some other stuff. I bought some groceries a couple days ago." He frowned. "I think I was subconsciously trying to convince myself you'd be home soon. Or something. I don't know."

She laughed as she slid out of bed and headed for the fridge, and he turned, propping himself up on his elbow, watching her go. Enough pale light from the nearly-full moon was shining through the windows to illuminate the entire apartment, giving him a perfect opportunity to appreciate her naked form. And he took full advantage of that opportunity, eyes tracing over her bare body, the curves he'd been completely lost in not so long ago. And hopefully would be again before too long. The night was still young.

"I think we need to find you a new hobby," she said, after she pulled some orange juice out of the fridge and turned back toward him. "Three weeks and all you did was punch a bag and miss me? That's probably not healthy."

"Hey," he said, mock indignation in his voice as he sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. "That wasn't all I did. I cleaned out my old room finally. I changed the oil filter on mom's car. And I did some thinking."

He'd done a lot of thinking, actually. Mostly about her. About them. About how he felt, what they were, where they were headed. There was nothing like a prolonged absence to cast a light on a relationship. And while none of his thoughts had been new ones, all of them having passed through his mind before at some point, the vivid illustration of just how much she meant to him, how much being separated from her hurt definitely made them crystallise a little more firmly in his head.

"Thinking, huh? About what?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Why'd you bring it up then?" He shrugged. "Come on, Scott. We've been together nearly five years. I know you better than I know myself at this point. You brought it up for a reason. So stop playing coy. What were you thinking about?"

Grinning, he shrugged again. "This and that."

She was silent for a moment, studying him closely, brow furrowed with suspicion. He kept his face as blank as he could, smiling innocently, not quite ready to share his thoughts yet.  

"Really?" she eventually said. "That's all you're gonna give me?"

"Yup."

Her jaw clenched, annoyance flashing across her face, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Dick," she muttered, shaking her head, and he did let out a little laugh at that. "You're lucky I love you."

Just like every other time she said it, he felt a little surge of warmth shoot through him. No matter how long they were together, he'd never get tired of hearing those words. Or saying them. He was sure they'd both said it more than once earlier, after their reunion, and while they were in bed. But they'd been distracted then, that visceral need to be close, touching, physical desire for each other taking the lead, pushing softer emotions to the periphery for a short time.

But that hunger was sated for the moment. His head was clear. Hearing those words like that, for the first time in weeks, really feeling it, abruptly threw his thoughts into sharp relief. And suddenly he didn't want to wait.

Gripped by the sudden impulse, and before he could talk himself out of it, Scott slid out of bed and padded across to Malia, who'd turned to put the juice carton back in the fridge. She shot him a grin over her shoulder as he stepped up behind her and slid an arm around her waist, drawing her back tight against him, her warmth washing over him.

"You really want to know what I've been thinking?" he murmured softly, after pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Okay. You're right." He kissed her again, higher up. "You do know me." Pushing her hair to the side, he bared her neck and kissed her there, drawing a shiver from her. "And I know you." Behind her ear. "I think I know what you want." He nipped at her lobe, drawing a little moan from her. "I definitely know what I want." He dropped his voice to a low growl, whispering directly into her ear. "Can you guess what I want?"

"What do you want?" Her voice came out husky, a slight waver in it, and he smiled.

"Marry me."            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was originally supposed to be much longer. The idea was to actually include the scene with Liam and the ones with Scott trying to deal with his frustrations. But it felt a little unnecessary as I was writing it, so I did this instead. I think it accomplished the same thing. The ending... I don't know. Maybe abrupt. But I tried it a few different ways and this one worked the best. Hope you enjoyed it!


	6. You Don't Need to Say Anything

**You Don't Need to Say Anything**

"I love you."

Scott, his mind still fogged from the long, lingering kiss Malia had just planted on him, went completely still. Whatever he'd been expected when she'd taken his hand, led him up to his room, away from their friends, their pack, it wasn't that.

The kiss had been surprising, the door barely closed behind him before she'd pushed him back against it and pressed her lips to his, hard, bruising, almost painful. In the brief seconds before his mind had gone blank, it almost felt like she was desperate for contact, her arms wrapped tight around him, holding him close, like she was afraid to let go. Like he might disappear. And he understood. They'd both come very close to dying tonight, to seeing their friends, their family taken from them by the Anuk-Ite, by Monroe, by people driven by fear and rage for things they didn't understand.

Ever since they'd left the school, she'd stayed close, little touches on his arm, his back lending silent strength, support as they dealt with what remained of their enemies. And when it was handled, everybody had gathered at his house. It was still a mess, still riddled with bullets, but it was home, and they all needed that.

They were all still there, gathered down in the kitchen, the living room, some resting, some talking, all relieved to make it through the bloody night. If he concentrated, he could have picked up their words, their breathing, their heartbeats.

But all he could do was stare at Malia, at the challenging tilt of her head, the odd mixture of excitement and vulnerability in her eyes as the silence hung in the air between them. If he was being honest, he wasn't surprised she'd been the first to say it, or that it had come so early. He knew her, knew how she was, and he'd known the first time she'd kissed him that what she was feeling for him was more than just a passing interest. Still, after the night they'd had, it caught him off-guard to have it thrown out there like that, so simply, so openly.

Mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed heavily. "Malia, I—"

"Wait. Stop." Reaching out, she pressed a finger against his lips, then dropped her hand down,  pressed it flat to his chest. "I—you don't need to say anything, Scott. Not yet. Just listen. I _need_ to get this out. Okay?"

Eyes locked on hers, he nodded slowly, heart beating fast under her palm. For a second, she hesitated, gathering her thoughts. He studied her face closely, the emotions at play there, the apprehension, the tension, but underneath it all, the determination to say what she needed to say.

"Tonight," she finally began, speaking slowly, carefully choosing her words, "I learned what it feels like to die. When the Anuk-Ite got me, it was like..." She trailed off and shuddered, the memories of whatever she'd seen, whatever fear it had preyed on still fresh, vivid in her mind. The naked terror that flashed across her face made his stomach turn, but he bit his tongue, instead laying a hand over hers and squeezing softly. "It was dark and cold and I will _never_ forget it. But it wasn't the worst part of tonight."

Her free hand came up to his cheek, thumb gently stroking under his eye, over the dried blood crusted there, the reminder of the drastic step he'd taken. He could feel the slight tremor in her touch as she traced down his cheek, eyes never leaving his, silently saying so much.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "I had to do it. I couldn't let—"

"I know," she interjected, hand stilling as a sad smile turned her lips. "I know, and I get it. I know you, Scott. I know you're always going to make that hard choice to protect everyone. And that's... I accept that. It's part of what makes you who you are. But seeing you sitting there, bloody and blind and—" She cut off abruptly and before she looked away, he saw the pain twisting her face. Unsure of what to say, he just watched silently as she gathered herself. "It made me realise just how hard this is going to be."

He arched an eyebrow. "This?"

"Us," she clarified. "But not just us. Everything. This stuff with Monroe, it's not over."

Jaw clenched tight, he nodded. "It's not. The kind of hate that's driving her, it doesn't just go away. It'll take some time, but she'll be back."

"Yeah. And that means a lot of danger, for all of us. It means a fight, probably a long one, and it means fear and worry and a million other things that are going to make our lives hell. And I just—"Again she cut off, but this time, she didn't look away, eyes burning a hole in his. "I need you to know that I'm here, with you, no matter what. That no matter how hard it gets, I'm in this. Because I love you, Scott." She let that hang between them for a moment, cheeks flushed, before pressing on, nerves showing in the slight waver in her voice. "And I don't expect anything right now. I know this... what we have is so new and we haven't even really talked about it or anything. But I wanted to say it so you know exactly where I stand right now, because I—"

Whatever she'd been about to say was lost then as he leaned in and kissed her, hands framing her face, holding her tight as they came together. This wasn't like their earlier kiss, not about a need for touch, or relief, or reassurance that they were still there, still alive. It was about him pouring every ounce of his own feelings for her into their embrace, a physical expression of the words he hadn't said yet. It was about accepting the love she was offering, and paying it back in full. It was about _them_ , the pain and emotional toll of the night completely pushed aside by something much more important.

When they broke apart, he smiled at her, eyes taking in the dazed look on her face, her slightly-parted lips, her flashing eyes. And he was certain he was looking at his future, what mattered most. "I love you too."

Closing her eyes, she swallowed, then let out a little sigh. "You don't have to—"

"Hey!" Her eyes flew open at his forceful exclamation, surprise registering on her face. Gently, he tucked her hair behind her ear, hand lingering against her cheek, a soft smile twisting his lips. "What exactly do you think happened tonight? At the school, with my eyes. You healed me."

She scoffed quietly, pursing her lips. "You healed yourself. I just helped you focus."

"No. _You_ healed me." She opened her mouth, probably to protest, but he cut her off, slowly shaking his head. "It wasn't just a kiss, Malia. It was you, it was what we are, what we have. You think anybody else could have done what you did? You think if Lydia kisses me, the same thing happens? No, no. It was you. It was this." Dropping his arms down around her waist, he pulled her tight to him, his lips finding hers again, softer, gentler this time. "I love you, Malia Tate. And I can't see the future. I don't know exactly what's coming, or how bad it's gonna be. But what I do know is I want this, I want us. What I'm absolutely certain of is _you_."

For a second, she was still, silent, staring at him. He'd never seen her so expressive, all the emotions she was feeling laid bare before him, shining through in her eyes, in the way she tried and failed to suppress the wide, happy smile that spread across her face.

"Well, that's good," she finally said, voice husky. "Glad we're on the same page."

Throwing back his head, he let out a burst of amused laughter, feeling her arms go around him, squeezing gently. Then he was kissing her again, lost in the moment, in her, the pleasant warmth in his heart driving out the lingering fear, anger, pain of the night. There was just her, the taste of her lips, the sensation of her pressed against him, their commitment ringing in his ears, echoing through his mind.

Three simple words that meant so much. An acknowledgement that they were all in. The only thing that mattered in a world so filled with uncertainty, with no clear picture of what the next day would bring, what fresh hell was brought down on them.

"I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much here, just a short piece set a couple hours after everything went down with the Anuk-Ite and Monroe. Originally, this was supposed to be a little more detailed and span a longer period, but I realised just before I started writing it that I'd unintentionally been planning what was essentially a rewrite of a story I'd read, just from Scott's perspective rather than Malia's. I was uncomfortable doing something so close to another author's work, so I narrowed the focus a bit and tried to keep it contained to just the few moments around when they actually admitted they loved each other. Hope everybody enjoyed it.


	7. Talk to Me

**Talk to Me**

"So, are you gonna tell me what's wrong?" Scott asked softly, as he slowly traced his fingers up and down Malia's bare arm. They were lying in bed, her draped over him, cheek pillowed on his chest, the top of her head tucked under his chin.

"Nothing's wrong," she murmured, shifting slightly, pressing herself tighter against him. "Go to sleep."

"You sure? You were really quiet tonight."

It had been a quiet night overall. Dinner with his mom and Argent, then an evening spent on the couch, watching a movie, appreciating a little downtime after several weeks of frequent trips all over the state, dealing with Monroe's people. But she'd been unusually reserved the entire time, and he'd noticed. Distracted, almost, like her mind was elsewhere.

"Yeah, I'm all right." This time, there was a clear hesitation in her response, a reluctance, and he frowned.

"Hey. Hey." Slowly, she pulled back enough to look up at him, and he was surprised to see a touch of what looked like embarrassment on her face. Lifting a hand to her cheek, he cupped it gently, tracing under her eye with his thumb. "You know you can talk to me about anything. What's wrong?"

Biting her lip, she was silent for a minute, indecision in her eyes as they roved to a point over his shoulder before focusing back on him. "You're gonna think I'm being stupid," she muttered sheepishly, as she sank back down against his chest.

Huffing out a breath, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Never. What's up?"

For a moment, she was silent, and he briefly thought she wasn't going to open up. But then she shifted, rolling off him, onto her own side of the bed. Fingers drumming nervously on the bed, she stared up at the ceiling for a second, then sighed heavily. "While you were at work this afternoon, your mom asked me to grab the extra duffel bag out of the top of your closet."

Brow furrowed, he rolled on his side to face her. "Okay..."

"When I pulled it down, a bunch of other stuff came with it. Some old magazines, a lacrosse helmet." Her voice got very quiet. "A little wooden box. When it hit the floor, it opened and everything in it just sort of went everywhere."

More confused than ever, Scott studied her face searchingly, frowning. She looked apprehensive, her eyes staying pointedly away from him, lips pursed, like she was reluctant to say anything. Eyes narrowed, he thought about the box in question, about why it would cause whatever was going on here. He hadn't even opened it in over a year. It was just some baseball cards he'd collected as a kid, some pictures of him with his parents back when they were still together, the ticket from the first flight he'd ever taken, and...

"Oh." He went still for a second, then let out a sigh. "Kira's tail?"

She shot him a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah. And I—I guess it just sort of... I don't know. It got me thinking. About the two of you. About her coming back some day." Her eyes darted to him briefly, so quick he almost missed it. "About what that might mean for us."

"What it means for us?" He reached for her hand on the bed between them, took it in his, frowning when she didn't respond, didn't squeeze back. "Why would it mean anything? What, do you think I'd just dump you for her if she comes back?" He'd intended it as a joke, an attempt to break down the sudden tension he could feel in the air, in her, but when she remained silent, still avoiding meeting his gaze, his eyes widened. "Oh, shit, Malia, no. _No_. That's not—"

"I know, I know. I told you it was stupid." Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose and slowly shook her head. "I don't like this, feeling like this. I'm not—this isn't me. I'm not... _insecure_ like this. I just... the way things ended between the two of you, it's hard not to think there's unfinished business there. And most days, I'm fine with that, because I trust you, I trust us and what we have. But sometimes..." She trailed off, and he could see the frustration, the anger playing on her face. "Sometimes it's hard not to worry about how that all plays out."

For a second, he stayed silent, watching her, taking in her rigid posture, the tension in her shoulders, her whole body, and the distance between them. He could smell the emotional turmoil she was going through, a mix of a hundred different emotions, all of which she was trying and failing to suppress. And it hurt him to see her hurting like that, as he searched for the words to say to make this better, make it right.

"It's not stupid," he finally said. "It's... I get it, all right? When Kira left, it wasn't exactly a clean break." He sighed and shook his head. "She's probably going to be back some day. She's one of us, and she's always going to have a home in Beacon Hills, in the pack. But that's it. Whatever her place is now, in the future, it's not by my side. That spot's taken."

She smiled sadly, her eyes finally meeting his. "You say that now." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "But what about when she comes back for her tail, when she comes back for _you_?"

"It doesn't matter," he insisted, tightening the grip he had on her hand, willing her to look at his face, see the sincerity there. "The history I have with Kira, it's just that. It's history. And I'm not living in the past. I'm here, with you. I love you, Malia."

She was silent for a second, and he briefly thought he'd reassured her. But then her eyes closed, tongue darting out to wet dry lips. "I don't doubt that you love me," she said softly, slowly, "I know you do. I see it every time I look at you. I feel it every time you touch me. But you love her too. That kind of thing doesn't just go away." She paused to swallow heavily. "And a part of me can't help but think that maybe... I don't know. Maybe when she's back, you won't want me anymore. Maybe the reason you're with me is because she's not with you. Maybe I'm just... a placeholder or something."

His heart broke when her voice cracked at the end. Partly because of the raw pain on her face as she said the words. And partly because he'd waited until now, until she was upset to do anything about an issue that had been hanging over them, to some extent, since the beginning.

He'd known it would come up eventually. Considering their history, how could it not? She was fully aware, always had been, of the circumstances around Kira's departure, of the lack of a definitive end. It wasn't like they'd broken up, or fallen out.

But it wasn't just about him, his history. She had her own issues to deal with, her own past casting a shadow on her present, her future. He vividly remembered a moment just a week after the Wild Hunt left town, at his house, watching a movie with their friends. Stiles, whispering to Lydia, telling her he loved her, that it had always been her. The words hadn't been meant for them, there was no intention to be cruel. But he'd seen the look on Malia's face when she'd heard them, the look she'd quickly hidden before anybody else could see the pain, the sadness.

It was a look he'd never forget. A look he never wanted to see again. A look he refused to be the cause of.

"You're not." Reaching over, he cupped her cheek, stopped her from looking away from him. "I know what you're thinking, but you don't have to worry. At all. The reason I'm with you is because I love you, and I don't want to be with anybody else. Kira and me..." He shook his head, eyes boring into hers. "What we had, it's long over. It's done."

"But Scott—"

"No, hey," he said, cutting her off, "you're not getting it. I'm telling you it's _done_." Her brow knit as the finality in his voice finally sank in, confusion flaring to life in the depths of her eyes. "After we got together, after I realised I was in love with you, I wrote a letter. To Kira," he clarified. "I gave it to her mom, asked her to pass it on if she could. And she did."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want her thinking I was just gonna be here, waiting for her. I didn't know if her feelings had changed, but I knew mine had, and I couldn't just let that loose end stay untied, y'know? I just—she deserved to know I'd moved on." Falling silent, he pursed his lips briefly, then shrugged. "I told her everything, about you, about us, that she'd always be pack, be a friend, but nothing more."

"And what did she say?" she prompted after a moment of silence, rolling toward him, her hand clasping around his wrist.

"Not much. Guess paper's hard to come by in a cave in the desert." For the first time all night, he saw her lips twitch, a hint of a smile threatening to appear before she fought it off and arched an eyebrow, drawing a sigh from him. "She said she understood, and she was happy for us. Both of us."

"That's it?"

"That's it." At her disbelieving expression, he sighed. "Listen, Kira knew what she was doing when she left. She made the best choice she could for herself and I always understood that. It hurt like hell at the time, I'm not gonna lie, but I got it. But we never made any promises to each other. She knew this was a possibility, that I'd find somebody else. She made her choice, and I've made mine." Smiling gently, he stroked his thumb over her cheek, looking into her eyes. "I chose you. And I always will."

Finally, her expression cracked, a genuine smile breaking through, spreading across her face. "You chose me?" she asked softly, before she abruptly moved, rolling him over on his back and straddling his waist, as his hands reflexively moved to her hips. "I think I was the one who made the first move."

Spurred by her words and the welcome lightening of the mood in the room, he chuckled. "Yeah, you definitely did. Best day of my life."

"We almost suffocated. And then your mom got shot."

"I'll remember that day however I want, thanks." It was her turn to laugh then, and he grinned as he let the sound wash over him, saw the amusement on her face, a far cry from what he'd been getting from her all night. Slowly, as he watched her, his expression softened, and when her laughter trailed off, he caught her eye. "Is this... are you okay? Did this help?"

She nodded and ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward to cover her face. "Yeah, I'm fine. I—I don't know. I'm not—you know me, Scott. This isn't me. I just..." Trailing off, she looked at him through the curtain of her hair, flashing him a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"Hey, don't apologise." For just the briefest second, he saw that look of utter devastation overlaid over her smiling face, and had to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. "I should have said something earlier, cut this off before it got to this point. I don't even know why I didn't." He arched an eyebrow. "Should I be apologising to you?"

"No." Reaching down, she brushed her hand along his temple as she shook her head slowly. "You didn't do anything wrong." Leaning down, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to make his heart beat a little faster. "Thank you. For... you know."

He just smiled, wrapping his arms around her as she slid to the side and settled back down against him, ready for bed now that her mind was at ease. "Hey," he softly, once she stopped squirming, "Next time you've got something on your mind, just talk to me. No matter what it is. I want to help. Okay?" She let out a little noise of acknowledgement, pushing tighter into his side as he gently ran his hand over her hair. "Are we good?"

"We're great."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's that. A sort of requested look at how I thought that conversation might have played out. Only took me three attempts to finally get it to a readable level. Originally, I wanted to do it from Malia's perspective, but it was just not working out. Also wanted to end on a laugh-line, but when I got there, I just couldn't work it in. Anyway, hope you all like it.


	8. Alive

**Alive**

"We did it. We won. It's over."

Even now, almost a full twenty-four hours after the battle, the fight that had ended with Monroe dead, the remnants of her army crushed, disbanded, Scott couldn't quite wrap his head around it. He could hear the disbelief in his own voice, his mind struggling to process the fact they'd done it, they'd survived. They'd triumphed. After two long years spent fighting a war that seemed like it would never end, they were finally free.

"Yeah, it is," he heard, a second before Malia appeared, leaning into his side, sliding an arm around his lower back. "Never in doubt, right?" she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder.

Wrapping his arm around her, he chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Never."

As he returned his gaze out their living room window, he couldn't help but smile. It was a sunny, warm day, made all the brighter by the absence of the shadow they'd been living under for so long. While it hadn't been all bad, a million little moments of happiness, of love, with Malia, with his family, friends lighting up the years of darkness, there was always that threat, that fear and frustration hanging over everything they did. Now that it was gone, everything just seemed a little more vivid, a little sharper, a little lighter.

The fact they'd made it through whole certainly helped. Not untouched, unfortunately, the entire pack suffering injuries and pain more times than he could count. They'd lost allies, people he considered friends, but the core group, his family, had come out the other side intact. He might have called it a miracle if the level of faith he had in his friends, his pack wasn't as high as it was. Even in the darkest times, he'd believed in them, in every single one, and they'd repaid that faith by pulling through, surviving.

Now they were free, all of them, to live the lives they'd put on hold, to do the things they never could. He was sure something else would come up before too long, some new threat to disturb them, to threaten them, to drag them back into the fight. But for now, for today, everything was calm, peaceful, open to anything, everything. And as great as that was, he had no idea what to do with it.

"What now?"

He muttered the words to himself, not even fully aware he'd spoken them aloud until Malia shifted next to him, turning her head to look at him. "Hmm?"

"What now?" he repeated softly, pursing his lips as his eyes followed a young mother and her child making their way along the sidewalk outside. "Where do we go from here? I guess I'm just not sure what to do now. For so long, we've been waiting for the next fight, the next attack. There was always something coming that we had to watch for, to prepare for. And now..." Trailing off, he slowly shook his head, searching for the right words to describe how he was feeling, not entirely sure there were any. "For the first time in a long time, I don't know what comes next."

Frowning, she swung around to face him, blocking the window, giving him nothing to look at but her. "Are you kidding?" She arched an eyebrow, amusement mixing with exasperation on her face as her eyes found his. " _Life_ comes next. Everything we put off to deal with Monroe, that's all in front of us now. We can be people again, not fucking _soldiers_." Reaching up, she cupped his face with both hands, her eyes wide and boring directly into his. "It's time to _live_."

"I don't know if I remember how," he said softly, almost ashamed to admit it. "I'm happy, so happy that we won, that Monroe is gone and not coming back. But—but I don't think I know how to be normal anymore. I don't know how to live without that constant threat looming over me." He let out a shuddering breath as his own words hit his ears. "How fucked up is that?"

As awful as the war had been, there had been a sort of order to things, to knowing it was always just a matter of days, weeks at the most, before he'd be off again to some other city, to track somebody down or fight, to put his life and the lives of his friends on the line. He hadn't been able to think too far ahead, or worry about what was coming in life because there was always that to focus on. Staying alive took precedence over living, and now that things had returned to their normal order, he wasn't quite sure how to adjust.

For a moment, Malia was silent, studying him closely, her own expression closed, unreadable. Then, abruptly, she moved, slipping around behind him and wrapping her arms around him. "Look outside," she said, as she rested her chin on his shoulder, clasping her hands together over his stomach. "What do you see?"

"I see..." He trailed off as he looked out over their neighbourhood, at the people walking up and down both sides of the street. There were kids with backpacks on, heading east, toward the middle school a couple blocks away. There were more parents like the one he'd noticed earlier, pushing strollers or holding hands with their young children, making for the small park at the far end of the street. There were people talking on phone, and laughing with friends, appreciating the sun, the warmth of the bright autumn day. "I see people," he finally said, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

"People doing what?" she prompted, squeezing lightly as she leaned her head against his.

"Going to work, the park, talking, laughing..." Her point dawned on him then, as his words faded out, and he huffed out a little breath through his nose. "Living."

"Exactly. And that's what we're gonna do too. You want to take a walk? We can go do that. We can go get some breakfast. We can visit your mom and Argent, or my dad. We can go to the mall or the movies. We can get in the car and just drive around town for two hours. We can do whatever we want."

A wry smirk twisted his lips then. "Doesn't sound so different from what we've been doing."

"It's _not_. That's the point." Again, she moved, turning him this time, until they were face to face again, his back to the window. Her hands came up, framing his face, holding him still as her eyes locked onto his. "We keep doing what we've been doing. We live our lives, we love our friends and each other. We do what makes us happy. Only now, we don't have some psycho killer out there, scheming to murder us all."

He arched an eyebrow. "You sure about that? This _is_ Beacon Hills, and we are who we are."

She snorted. "Yeah, there's probably somebody else who wants us dead. There always is. But we'll deal with that when it comes up. For now, we're not gonna think about it. We're here, and there are a million things we can do," she finished, brushing a hand across his cheek before she dropped her arm back down around his waist. "We're free, Scott! Free to do whatever we want. Free to be alive!"

Even if he'd wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to keep the smile off his face, caught up in her enthusiasm, in her eyes, shining and bright and full of life. "Okay, yeah, you're right." Leaning in, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then pulled back just enough to murmur, "What would I do without you?"

"Probably be miserable."

Grinning, he chuckled as he draped his arms over her shoulders and pulled her closer. "I love you so much," he whispered, before his lips found hers again, coming together softly at first, then harder, demanding as they got caught up in the moment. And when they broke apart, flushed and smiling, he leaned his forehead against hers and said, "Any suggestions for today then? You want to go get some breakfast?"

She was quiet for a second, then pulled back, and he felt his heart start beating a little faster at the hungry grin slowly spreading across her face. "Actually," she said, drawing out the word playfully as she hooked her thumbs under his belt, "I was thinking maybe we could stay in for today. Take a little time just for us, see where it goes."

If the suggestion in her words wasn't blatant enough, the challenge in her eyes was more than enough to get him moving. She let out a little squeak of surprise when he suddenly moved, scooping her up in his arms in one fluid motion, then trailed off into laughter as he turned and headed for their bedroom.

"Time to celebrate being alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to this one. Just a moment, after everything is over, for Malia to remind Scott what living is all about now that they're out from under Monroe's threat. I think I might do a longer version of this at some point, cover the actual battle and the aftermath, go into more detail, but I was feeling the itch to get something out and this is what I ended up with for now. Hope you like it.
> 
> Aside: if any of you have any specific scenes you'd like to see me try out, don't be afraid to drop me a message on Tumblr (linked in my profile). I can't guarantee I'll write everything, but I'd be happy to take a shot at it if I think I can do something with it.


	9. Out of the Dark

**Out of the Dark**

"Scott?"

His name, whispered, and accompanied by a little groan of pain drew Scott's eyes from his phone and toward his bed. Malia was lying there, on top of the covers, her eyes slowly blinking as she looked around the room, searching for him.

Rising from his chair, he stepped toward her, concerned eyes looking her over. She'd been sleeping, resting after a rough night that involved an ambush by a group of Monroe's followers. He'd escaped with only minor injuries, a few scrapes and cuts, but she'd been less lucky, enthusiastically throwing herself head-first into the fight and paying the price for it in the end. She'd passed out, exhausted and sore, about twenty seconds after they made it up to his room, and he'd been content to watch over her, waiting for her to awaken.

"I'm here." Kneeling next to the bed, he smiled as he reached out and gently ran his fingers through her hair. "How do you feel?" he asked quietly, as she tilted her head slightly, leaning into his hand, silently directing him where she wanted him to touch.

"Like shit."

He huffed out an amused breath, eyes crinkling as his smile widened. "Makes sense. You took some pretty bad hits tonight." As he spoke, he traced his gaze over the rest of her, mostly hidden by her clothes and the dark. Even though he couldn't see the wounds and bruises, he could smell her blood, the scent not as strong, as overpowering as it had been when they'd first returned home, but still there, lingering in the air around them. "Kinda surprised you're conscious right now."

"Kinda wish I wasn't." She paused for a second, hesitating, as he looked fondly at her, then continued in a voice barely above a whisper. "Are you mad at me?"

Hand stilling in her hair, he frowned, brow furrowing in confusion. "What? No. Why would I be mad at you?"

She tried to shrug, only to grimace when the sudden movement tugged painfully at her wounds. "I don't know. I sort of... lost it a bit tonight. Wasn't exactly in control. Chasing after those assholes... stupid. And look what it got me." She lifted an arm and turned it to show the dark bruise decorating her wrist. "It was dumb. Risky." She sighed as she let her arm drop back to the bed. "It was—"

"It was incredible." He had to laugh at the shock that formed on her face at his statement. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, hand moving down, cupping her cheek. "I hate seeing you like this. If I could trade places with you, I would. In a second, I would." Even as he spoke, he concentrated, drawing some of her pain into himself, happy beyond belief to see relief immediately take over for the surprise in her expression. "But you were amazing out there tonight. You saved all our asses."

It was no exaggeration. They'd been pinned down, him, Argent, and Liam, on foot and cut-off after an ambush by one of Monroe's crews. They hadn't been expecting an attack at home, in Beacon Hills, were caught completely off-guard, forced to run from a hail of bullets. They'd taken cover under a ridge on the edge of the preserve, desperate messages sent to their friends as they waited, outnumbered and outgunned, nursing their own wounds, the enemy circling closer by the minute. Things were looking bleak.

And then she was there, leaping out of the dark, tearing into the ranks of hunters hemming them in. Briefly, he'd registered she wasn't alone, Derek on her heels, following her lead. But his attention was focused on her, on the way she moved, dancing around some blows, shrugging off the rest like they were nothing at all. The way her eyes glowed a vivid blue as she tossed aside grown men like they were cardboard cut-outs, teeth bared, claws catching the moonlight, that warm feeling he got every time he saw her multiplied by the relief that she'd come when he needed her most.

He'd jumped into the fight then, losing sight of her as she took off into the dark, chasing somebody. It took several minutes before the tide turned and the enemy retreated, but as soon as they were gone, he went after her, following her scent. He found her leaning against a tree, bloody, bruised, but victorious, smiling through the pain as he'd taken her in his arms, held her close.

"It wasn't just me," she protested softly, flushing a little under his admiring look as he recalled the night, what she'd done.

"No, it wasn't," he allowed. "We helped a bit. But it was mostly you. You kicked some serious ass tonight."

She cracked a smile at that. "Yeah, I guess I did. Don't tell Derek I said this, but I think he needs to practice a bit. He's getting sloppy. Pretty sure I could take him now." She paused for a beat, frowning. "Well, maybe not _now_. But definitely later. Tomorrow, maybe."

Chuckling softly, he shook his head, thumb tracing gently beneath her eye. "I have zero doubts. " Leaning down, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, then shot her a lopsided grin as he straightened back up. "This might be inappropriate, but I really like watching you fight. Not seeing you get hurt," he quickly tacked on, briefly frowning as his eyes traced down her body before refocusing on her face. "But watching you fight... I could do that all day. It's, uh, it's kinda hot."

She arched an eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. I mean, I think it's just something about the way you move. Sort of... smooth? Fluid?" He shook his head. "I'm not describing this right. Doesn't matter. It just... it, uh, it really works for me. Like, _really_ , and—" Cutting off, he cleared his throat and shrugged sheepishly, blushing slightly as her mouth twitched, clearly fighting a grin. "Sorry, that's not—"

"No, no," she interjected, amusement shining in her eyes as her lips twisted in a smirk. "I get it. You like the way I move."

Whatever embarrassment he'd been feeling melted away at the look on her face. "I really do." His hand found hers on the bed, fingers intertwining, squeezing softly. "I like the way you do everything." Leaning in, he kissed her softly, bracing himself on the bed to avoid putting any pressure on her injuries. "Okay," he murmured, when he pulled back, taking a second to grin at the slightly-dazed look on her face. "You want to try to get some more sleep? Looks like your healing's kicking in."

"No, I'm good. I—" Her words cut off as her mouth opened wide in a huge yawn. "Okay, yeah," she continued sheepishly a second later, "sleep's probably a good idea."

Scott nodded, squeezing her hand softly again as he went to stand. He was forced to stop though when she tightened the grip she had on him, keeping him on his knees. Brow furrowed, he met her eyes, questioning. "What, you want me to stay?" He'd chosen to let her sleep alone earlier, partly so he could watch over her, but mostly because he didn't want to accidently jar her in his sleep and make things worse.

"I do," she said in a small voice. "Kinda just want to be held. I know I'm all covered in blood and gross and everything, but I feel better when you're close, and—"

He cut her off with a finger to her lips. "It's all good. You want me, I'm here. You did just save my life, after all," he teased, shooting her a wink.

Flashing him a grateful smile, she slowly moved over, making room for him to join her on the bed. Carefully, he slid in behind her, waiting for her to turn on her side, then tucking his knees behind hers, his chest flush to her back. When he gently draped his arm over her side, pulling her close, he heard her let out a contented sigh, and smiled into her hair.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, after taking a second to just appreciate the feeling of her in his arms, the way she fit against him, the fact they were both alive and going to be fine.

"This is great." She paused. "Well, not _great_. This isn't exactly how I planned to spend my Friday night."

He let out a little amused breath. "No. It's all right though. We can make up for it tomorrow. Go out, just the two of us, get some dinner or something, make a night of it. And hopefully it won't end with us dodging bullets."

"One can hope," was her dry reply, prompting a tired chuckle from him. "Definitely can't say we lead boring lives."

"Nope, definitely not."

"But," she said softly, drawing out the word, "I don't think I'd want it any other way. I mean, I could do without the bloody wounds and gun-toting maniacs and everything, but honestly..." Trailing off, she clasped her hand over his and pulled it against her stomach. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here, with you."

For a second after she fell silent, he was quiet, not sure he could actually respond to that simple statement. It always got to him, every time she said things like that, told him how much she loved being with him, despite the constant threats and insanity that was an unavoidable part of their lives. And not just when she said it, but when she proved it, like tonight, not hesitating to take on the world just to make sure he stayed alive, safe. It just made him recognise and reflect on what he had with her, what he'd found, the one thing he couldn't imagine living without anymore.

"Me too," he finally managed to say, a little proud of himself for not choking up, for his voice remaining steady. "Me too. I love you."

"I love you too."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up a bit different from what I originally envisioned. From the start, the goal was to show Scott taking care of Malia after a fight, but as I was writing it, what I'd originally pictured just did not seem to work. So I kept it simple, had them end up in bed together, which is apparently my go-to move these days. Gotta work on that. Anyway, hope you all like it!


	10. The Next Step

**The Next Step**

The sensation of fingers slowly tracing over his tattoo gently drew Scott from the depths of slumber. It was a slow process, a gradual shift from the dark void to awareness as his senses kicked in. There was softness of his bed under him, the early morning light piercing through his closed eyes, the warmth of the woman next to him, skin pressed against his from shoulder to foot. The scent his brain immediately identified as _home_ , a mixture of his own and hers, strong and heady.

"You know," he murmured, his only movement the twitching of his lips as he fought to keep from smiling, "if you want a tattoo of your own, we could get you one for your next birthday."

As soon as he spoke, words thick with sleep, Malia's fingers stilled. He heard her let out a little amused breath, then the bed springs creak as she leaned in and pressed a kiss where she'd just been touching. "How about for our one-year anniversary?" she suggested as he shifted, turning his head to face her, grinning at the teasing lilt in her voice as their eyes met. "That's coming up soon, right?"

"A month," he immediately replied, "and three days."

She was quiet for a beat, still, then her lips twitched once, twice, and a wide grin spread across her face. "Wow," she breathed, amusement colouring her tone. "You just had that ready, huh? No hesitation."

He shrugged, completely unashamed. "What can I say? I'm a sentimental guy."

"I know." Her smile softened as she stretched, leaning in, lips finding his, coming together in a gentle, lingering kiss. "It's part of what I love about you," she murmured as she pulled away, sinking down until her head rested on his shoulder. "Just so we're clear," she continued as her left hand slid across his chest, fingers dancing over his skin, "what day are we counting from? I mean, things were kind of crazy when we got together. The dates kind of blur together, y'know?"

"The first time we kissed."

Almost every other moment in that day had been miserable, either in pain, or teeming with fear, with anxiety, with worry, with dread. But for that one shining moment when she'd made the move, crossed whatever line they'd drawn between themselves and took the step they'd been teetering on, none of that other stuff had mattered. It had just been her and him and that spark, finally catching, finally brought to light.

Brow furrowed slightly, she looked up at him, questioning. "Why then? We never really said anything, did we? That night... I mean, things kinda got crazy pretty quick after that."

Again, he shrugged, a far-off look in his eyes as he thought back to that night, the look on her face as she reached for him, the taste, the feeling of her lips on his that first time. "That was... that was when things changed. In the best possible way. Things..." He pursed his lips, searching for the words. "My life _shifted_ that night, the only shift that matters, and it hasn't been the same since." Coming back to the present, he looked in her eyes, saw the softness there, that look on her face only he got to see, and felt his heart skip a beat. "We didn't need to say anything. That was... that's when I knew. It was you. For me, that was it."

For a moment, she was silent, just watching him, and he could see the emotions playing over her face, so subtle but clear as day to him, an open book. He could see the love there, the affection, the desire, but also the faith, the belief, all the things that made their relationship the thing that let both of them endure the darkness of the struggle against Monroe and everything that came with it over the last year. He didn't need a mirror to know she was seeing the same thing on his face, because he was feeling it, felt it always, whether she was near or far.

"Me too," she finally said, a husky edge to her voice, eyes suspiciously bright. "I love you."

The words were whispered as she came forward for another kiss, pressing this time, lips hungrily working over his as she slid over him, weight resting comfortably on top of him. He was happy to lose himself in her, in their kiss, in her hands grasping at him, tangling in his hair, holding him tight. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her flush against him, revelling in the sensation, the warmth, the emotion of their embrace.

When the need to breathe finally forced a break, he looked up at the ceiling, heart racing, mind high on her, idly running his fingers through her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder. He could feel her breath, warm against his skin, and in that moment, he felt more at peace than he could remember being in months. All their problems seemed a million miles away, so far removed they didn't even matter, couldn't even touch them. He felt safe, secure, surrounded by her, all the fear and darkness lingering around them recently completely erased, pushed aside by the love, the overwhelming sense of _rightness_ he felt inside at that moment.

Comfortable as he was, it took him a second to react when she suddenly spoke, voice soft, quiet. "We should move in together."

At first, what she'd said didn't register. Still a little dazed, disoriented, he blinked slowly and licked his lips. "What?"

She shifted, sliding back a little so she could tilt her head enough to look up at him. "We should move in together," she repeated, a little stronger, a little louder.

This time, the words filtered through, his lips quirking up in a bemused smile as he arched an eyebrow. She met his gaze unflinchingly, eyes wide and bright, a little smile playing around her lips. "I kinda thought we were already living together." Lifting an arm, he gestured lazily around the room. "We spend almost every night here. Pretty sure you've got more clothes here than I do at this point. When was the last time we were both in town and didn't end up sleeping together?"

She snorted, grinning up at him. "I can't remember. But that's not what I meant." Just as quickly as it had come, her grin disappeared, leaving her expression serious, and catching him off-guard. Slowly, the realisation that he was in the middle of an important conversation began to settle, even as she continued, her eyes never leaving his. " I think we should get our own place. Y'know, just me and you. _Together_."

"Are you—" He cleared his throat. "Are you being serious right now?"

"Yeah, I..." Pausing, she hesitated for a second, then shrugged. "I've kind of been thinking about it a bit lately. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love your house. It's great. I love your mom. I _really_ love how good of a cook she is. I'm not saying I wanna leave or anything like that. I just..." Trailing off, she slowly shook her head, then let out a sigh through her nose. "We've been together for almost a year. We love each other, and it feels... I don't know. I guess it feels like we're kinda in this for the long run, y'know? And I think we're ready for... _that_. For the next step, or whatever you wanna call it. I—I'm ready for that."

"A commitment," he murmured, more to himself than to her. When she cocked an eyebrow, questioning, he smiled softly and shook his head. "A commitment. You're ready for a commitment. I get it."

Mirroring his expression, she nodded. "Yeah, that's part of it. But not just that. Listen, like I said, I'm happy here. Pretty sure I could be happy anywhere as long as you're there too." Moving suddenly, she sat up, straddling his waist, her hands finding his and clasping around them on his chest. "But the idea of having a place that's just for us... that sounds pretty amazing. Like, our place, y'know? And I know we're young and kinda broke, but I talked to Derek. You know how many buildings he owns around here? Too many. But he said he had some places I could check out if I wanted and—"

"Wait, wait," he interrupted, bemused. "You talked to Derek about this?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I did. I, uh, we were just talking a couple weeks ago and I mentioned I'd been thinking about maybe looking into a place. Just to see, y'know? He offered to show me a few spots, gave me some numbers, y'know, rent and stuff like that. I did the math and I think we can make it work. If you want to. I'm sure we could—" Cutting off, she narrowed her eyes, lips tightening into a straight line. "What?"

Grinning widely, he just shook his head, unwilling to speak because he knew if he opened his mouth, he'd start laughing, and he didn't want her to take it the wrong way. The amusement wasn't directed toward what she was saying, her thoughts, but rather how her eyes were lit up, how the excitement in her voice was growing as she went along. She didn't often get so worked up, and seeing it now just tickled him, mixing with all the other emotions her suggestion was bringing out.

"Nothing," he finally managed to say, choking up a little as he fought to keep himself under control. "I just... you really want this."

 It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyways, expression earnest, open. "I do," she admitted softly, ducking her head a little, letting her hair swing forward to partially obscure her face. "I'm not trying to pressure you, Scott. I know money's always going to be an issue, and you've got school to think about once we get past this shit with Monroe. It won't be easy. But..." She swallowed heavily, the grip she had on his hands tightening slightly as she raised her head again, eyes finding his. "But I love you. I love our life. And I want to take the next step down that path with you."

He hesitated for a second, studying her face, the emotions warring there. Worry and anticipation, and just a touch of resignation, like she was expecting him to laugh it off, to shoot her down. And love. Above all, love. Love for him. "Okay."

She immediately went still, brow furrowing deeply at his easy acceptance. "What?"

"Okay," he replied mildly, smiling as he reached up and gently cupped her face with a hand. "Talk to Derek. Set something up. Let's do it."

"I—are you— _really_?" A grin on his face at her surprised look, he nodded. "Just like that? You're in?"

"I'm in," he confirmed, his free hand finding hers on the bed beside him, fingers lacing together. "You're right. We might be young, and, uh, not exactly millionaires, but we're ready. I—I mean, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it before," he admitted, grin widening at the way her eyebrows shot up. "I never said anything because I didn't want to push, and because you're right, it's probably not gonna be easy. But I think we've proven by now we don't need easy to be happy. So, yeah, at the very least, we can check out our options, go from there." He shrugged. "Let's do it."

The words had just enough time to clear his lips before Malia pounced, kissing him hard, passionately, her hair falling in a curtain around him, hands fisting in the pillow on either side of his head. He didn't need to see her face, or hear her say it to know how happy he'd just made her. He could taste it, could feel it in her kiss, in the way she moved against as her mouth devoured his. And when she pulled back, leaving him flushed, gasping, lips swollen, he was certain the heat in her eyes as she looked down at him was enough to burn him alive.

"Tomorrow," she murmured as she leaned down and kissed him again, soft and sweet this time, before she slipped to the side and stretched out alongside him once again. "Derek's supposed to be back in town tomorrow. I'll talk to him then."

Scott just grunted, not trusting his ability to speak at the moment.

For a few minutes, they lied together in silence, hands absently stroking skin, just basking in each other and the lingering excitement of their decision. When she suddenly let out a breathless giggle, he tilted his head to look at her and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, the slight waver in her voice betraying her amusement. When his expression didn't change, she huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. "I just—I didn't think it would be that easy. I know how close you are with your mom, how responsible you feel for this place. I guess... I guess I thought I'd have to fight for it a little, y'know?"

Smiling, he nodded, a little sigh escaping him. "Yeah. I get that. But you gotta remember I already kinda went through all the worries and stuff that come with leaving last summer. I made peace with it then. I mean, I was hours away from being gone." As he spoke, she shifted closer, laying her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. "The fact that Argent's basically living here now helps a bit too. I know he'll help take care of things if my mom needs anything. And," he tacked on, a wry smile twisting his lips, "lately, I've _sorta_ been feeling like maybe this place wasn't exactly meant for two adult couples. I swear, if I walk in on the two of them going at it one more time, I'm gonna claw my own eyes out. _Again_."

Malia let out a snort at that, slapping his chest with an open palm. "They probably feel the same about us," she whispered, nuzzling her nose against his cheek as he started to chuckle. "How many times have they walked in on us? "

"Too many," he stated firmly, drawing a throaty laugh from her. "But maybe that's in the past now."

"Hopefully." Planting a hand on the bed, she pushed herself up so she could look down at him, and raised her right eyebrow. "You know Melissa still won't look me in the eye when I'm sitting in the green chair in the living room?"

It was his turn to snort at that. "Well, to be fair," he said, grinning as he reached up to brush the hair back from her face, "when she caught us in that chair, we were in a, uh, pretty _compromising_ position. I couldn't look her in the eye for, like, a month after that."

"Yeah..." Slowly, she let herself sink back down, until she was her head was resting on his shoulder once again. "She can _never_ find out what we did on the kitchen table."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had about half a dozen ideas I wanted to write over the last three weeks, and I haven't been able to get any traction at all with any of them. So I did this instead. It is pure fluff, and I'm okay with that. Hope you all are too. Aside from my need to write fluff, this one came about because I realised I'd written a couple one-shots already that had Malia and Scott living in their own place in Beacon Hills. I have a pretty detailed outline in my head of how everything plays out for them post-series, including them moving in together at some point between when they got together and when they beat Monroe for good and he finally gets to go to college. That initial conversation where they decided to give it a shot seemed like it could be a good one, and that's where this came from. Hope everybody likes it!


	11. Come Whatever May

**Come Whatever May**

"You both did good tonight."

Scott just grunted as he got out of the car, too exhausted to actually give Derek a proper response. He heard Malia say something, but her words were lost to him as he slammed the door and stepped back onto the lawn. As she joined him, he bent slightly, peering through the open window at the man sitting behind the wheel.

"Call me if anything else comes up," he said, grimacing a little at the slight waver in his voice. "I mean it, Derek. _Anything_. What happened tonight... it was just the beginning."

"I know. You two get some rest. I'll check in with you tomorrow."

That prompted a tired nod from him, as he straightened up and lifted a hand in farewell, a gesture copied by Malia. They both stood in silence, watching, as the car backed out of the driveway and roared off down the road.

As soon as the tail-lights vanished, swallowed up by the darkness, Scott stepped over to the porch and took a seat on the top step, sighing as he looked up into the night sky. It was clear, cloudless, the moon just a sliver, surrounded by a million little points of light, stars shining bright. He'd always liked nights like this, had spent hours as a kid staring up at the sky from his porch, in awe at how picturesque, how perfect it all looked. The wonder was still there, though it was off-set more than a little by the dull ache radiating through his body at the moment.

"Pretty," Malia observed softly as she settled in next to him, her hand finding his, grasping it tight.

For the first time in hours, a genuine smile touched his lips as he felt the warmth of her skin against his, that little bit of contact finally breaking through the dam of stress he'd built up. Letting out a heavy sigh, he angled himself toward her, leaning against her, dropping his head down on her shoulder.  A second later, she shifted, leaning her head against his, squeezing his hand softly when he started tracing his thumb over her knuckles. Seconds, moments, minutes passed in silence as they sat there, just looking up at the sky, taking comfort in each other.

"Hell of a night, huh?"

Her quiet words drew a huff of amusement from him. "Yeah," he said softly, lips twisting into a wry grin. "That's one way to put it."

After a month spent waiting for Monroe to regroup and make her next move, they'd finally started to hear rumours she was planning some kind of attack. Knowing she'd need weapons, they'd set up a watch on a small cache she'd hidden before being forced to flee Beacon Hills. They'd been expecting a few people, maybe three or four, looking to get in and out quick with the guns. It looked like an easy night, one that had the potential to end with a prisoner or two who might be able to shed some light on what was happening, what was coming next.

Things had gone south almost immediately. When the predicted small group showed up, he, Malia, Derek, and Argent had gone in after them, looking to end things quickly and quiet. And then the second group of hunters had shown up, nearly a dozen strong and eager for trouble. They'd triumphed after a protracted fight that left all four sore and bruised, but they'd lost the weapons and any opportunity to find out what Monroe was planning to do.

"Hey, it could be worse," Malia stated. "We could be dead."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that, more at her blunt delivery than any real humour. Because it was true. They could be dead. Or hurt much worse, at the very least. But they weren't, despite the odds. They'd faced the first salvo of the war, and they'd come out the other side whole. And the more he thought about it, the more comfort he found in that fact. They'd survived. They were okay. They'd be okay.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded and slowly straightened up, feeling a little lighter all of a sudden. The physical exhaustion was still there, but his soul felt a little better, a little less weighed down.

"You're right," he said through a smile as she turned to look at him, questioning. "Derek was right too. We did good tonight, all of us. Shit went sideways, and we dealt with it. That's... that's about as good an omen for the future as I can think of right now."

Seizing on his shift in mood, she grinned, eyes wide and bright. "Damn right. We kicked their asses, and next time, we'll kick even more." Then she paused, annoyance flashing across her face, only the slight twitching of her lips giving away that it was an act. "But I really hope 'next time' is, like, a Tuesday morning or something. I don't like giving up my Saturday nights. It's _really_ annoying. I mean, I can think of about a million other things I could have been doing tonight."

"A million, huh?" A crooked smile on his face, he nudged her shoulder gently with his own and cocked an eyebrow. "Care to share?"

She pursed her lips, tilting her head, considering. "Well, I've got some laundry to do. I haven't been for a good night run in awhile. Haven't called Lydia in a few days. Y'know, stuff like that." Her expression held for a second as he looked at her blankly, waiting, then cracked, lips quirking up as she leaned in and kissed him. She pulled away a second later, an impish grin on her face. "That's a pretty good option, too."

Scott knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help it. That was the effect she had on him. And he liked it. When he was with her, it was so easy to put aside the cares and worries he always carried with him, as an Alpha, as a protector of Beacon Hills. She made the world easier, simpler, even if it was only for a little while, just by being with him, being herself. It was what exactly what he needed. Now and always.

"Okay," she said a minute later, when they broke apart again, breathing heavily. "As fun as this is, we can't sit here all night. My ass is already numb."

Chuckling, Scott shook head. "Well, we can't have that. Come on." Rising to his feet, he reached out and pulled her up with him. She went to step toward the door, but he caught her and went the other way instead, back down onto the lawn. Bemused, she watched as he lied down, stretching out on the grass. "Come on. Just a few more minutes." He patted the ground next to him invitingly, repeating the action when she hesitated. Rolling her eyes, she finally caved and joined him, drawing a triumphant grin from him as his hand grasped hers again.

"I'm going to sleep in super late tomorrow," he said after a moment of silence, gaze focused up on the sky above. "I think I've earned it."

She huffed out a little breath. "That sounds good to me. Just as long as we're up by two."

Brow furrowed, he turned to look at her. "Why? What happens at two?"

"I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. My dad's going out of town for a week," she murmured. "He wants to have lunch before he leaves. It's kind of a tradition, I guess. He's gone so much, so we do the lunch or dinners as often as we can." Abruptly, she moved, sliding on top of him, straddling his waist, and looking down at his face. "And I want you to be there."

Lips pursed, he raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Isn't that... kinda like a family thing? Just you and him? I don't want to intrude."

She shrugged. "You're not intruding. You're invited. I told him you were coming and he was fine with it."

"Are you sure?" he asked slowly, frowning as his hands instinctively moved to her hips. "I don't want to make things weird. That's kind of... I mean, those are special for the two of you, and I don't wanna take that away from either of you. I—"

"Hey, hey, stop." Reaching down, she pressed her finger to his lips and held it until he stopped trying to talk. "He gets it, Scott. Trust me. Yeah, those are special, but so are you. You're... you're a huge part of my life now, and I want you there. I—" She paused, licking her lips, and he heard the slight stutter in her heartbeat. "You and my dad are the two people I love the most, and I want to spend as much time as I can with both of you. So you're coming," she finished firmly, her tone and set expression leaving no room for argument.

Unable to contain his grin, he nodded. "Yeah, I'd love to."

She flashed him a bright smile, then leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. He was more than happy to get back to that, wrapping his arms around her as she settled down on top of him, pulling her tight to him. But before things could really get going, she suddenly pulled back, drawing a little noise of disappointment from him as he tried to follow her up.

"I should probably warn you," she said, lips twisting in a little smirk as she pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back down. "He's gonna spend the whole time not so subtly threatening you. You ever wonder why Stiles barely spent any time at my house? That's why. He was _terrified_ of him. Probably still is."

Leaning back, Scott snorted and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Great. Should I be worried he's actually gonna shoot me?"

He could hear the laughter in her voice when she responded. "No, you'll be fine. He's... mostly talk." He grunted at the hesitation, cracking an eye open and peering up at her through his fingers. She was openly grinning, and shrugged as their eyes met. "And even if he does, it probably won't kill you."

"Comforting," he said dryly, drawing a peal of laughter from her.

For a second, he lied there, taking in her amusement, her happiness, and felt his heart swell, pleasant warmth suffusing his chest his whole body. He knew then, he'd brave a hundred threats, a thousand, real or imagined, to see that look on her face, to bring that out of her. Suddenly, it didn't matter that they were at war, that they could have died tonight, that they had no idea what was coming next, where their lived were headed. All that mattered was her, was them, was this. The life they were building together.

Come whatever may, they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update in a week. I'm on a roll. Though if I'm being honest, this one came about very last minute. Some of you may recognise a little recycled work in this one. I was reading through my abandoned/cut writing file and found a couple pieces that I thought worked well together. A thousand words later, and this is the result. Just a bit of a moment between Scott and Malia near the beginning of their relationship, when it's really sinking in that they're in this all the way. Hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Also, a little shout-out to the band Stone Sour here. One of my favourite bands, fronted by Corey Taylor, who is also the lead singer of Slipknot. Style clash there. But yeah, the title of this piece of taken from one of their songs. They also provided the title of this collection. It's half of a lyric from Song #3, which is a great song, one that I feel very much fits with the ScottxMalia dynamic. Check it out, especially the acoustic version.


	12. A Perfect Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Mischiefmalia for the Scolia Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr.

**A Perfect Day**

"Almost got it..."

Looking up, Scott couldn't help but smile as he watched Malia, a look of intense concentration on her face, add what had to be a tenth piece of tape to present she was wrapping. He was pretty sure it was one of the books she'd bought for Lydia, but it was hard to tell. She'd misjudged how much paper she needed initially, and had apparently decided to cover the resulting holes by just taping a bunch of smaller, mismatched pieces over them.

Spending part of his Christmas Eve wrapping presents wasn't something he'd ever intended. Usually, it was something he got out of the way a lot earlier, but this year had been particularly hectic, throwing everything a little bit off. There was the on-going war with Monroe and her people. There was the animal clinic, where he'd been working as much as possible up until just a few days ago, both to make some extra money and to make sure everything got done so he and Deaton could take a few days off over the holidays. And then there was the return of Stiles and Lydia to Beacon Hills for Christmas, both of whom wanted to make up for all the lost time they'd spent away for school. It all added up, keeping him and Malia busy almost constantly, and away from each other more than they liked.

Originally, they'd decided to take Christmas Eve as a day just for themselves, to spend some time together and relax a bit. Christmas day was going to be hectic, their first as a couple, splitting time between meals with her dad and his new girlfriend, and his mom and Argent, with some inevitable stops in between to visit with the rest of their friends. They needed a break before all that, a little breather, some alone time, something that had been extremely hard to come by lately.

Things had started well, most of the afternoon spent curled up on the couch together, watching a Friends marathon, eating pizza, and talking. It was quiet, peaceful, and exactly what they needed. And then he'd gone into the kitchen to get a drink and spotted the rolls of colourful paper his mom had left stacked next to the microwave, bringing on the sudden horrible realisation that it was Christmas Eve and he had a pile of presents sitting in the bottom of his closet that he'd completely forgotten to wrap. It turned out she was in the same boat, so their plans had been put on hold then as they brought everything downstairs and settled in to get that done as quickly as possible, so they could get back to doing nothing.

"There!" Grinning, Malia held up the misshapen package triumphantly, looking prouder of herself than he remembered ever seeing. Until her eyes slid to his right, onto the small pile of neatly-wrapped presents lying next to him on the couch, and her face abruptly fell. Looking back to her own gift, she pursed her lips and slowly shook her head, then dropped it down on the floor beside her, dejected. "I suck at this."

"No, no," he quickly insisted, injecting as much sincerity in his voice as he could, "It looks good!" When she greeted his words with only a raised eyebrow, he grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Really, I like it. I think it shows you tried, y'know? It wasn't easy, but you put some effort into it and got it done. People appreciate effort."

"Yeah, right," she replied, rolling her eyes and frowning as she tried to smooth down some of the tape on her gift with a finger. "I'm sure people take a lot of time to appreciate the effort before they tear it all to shreds."

"I do."                                                                            

"Yeah, well, you're weird."

Chuckling, he shook his head as he started on his next present. "The weirdest." With practiced ease, he wrapped his gift, neatly folding the paper, lining up the edges, and sealing the whole thing with a single piece of tape across the top. After grabbing a marker and sloppily scrawling 'Stiles' across the front, he went to add it to the pile, and happened to look up to find Malia watching him, envy and disbelief warring on her face. "What?"

She waved weakly at his presents, then threw up her hands. " _How_? How are you so good at this?"

"I don't know. Practice?" He shrugged. "My mom taught me, and she's really good at it. When I was a kid, she'd let me help her wrap whatever little things she got for her coworkers. I guess it stuck."

"It's not fair," she said, a sour look on her face as she held up her gift. "Look at this thing. You're like a gift-wrapping machine, and mine looks like somebody ate the wrapping paper and puked it back up in a pile. I'm—" She cut off and ran a frustrated hand through her hair, grimacing when her fingers caught on something. "And I've got tape in my hair. One gift and I've already got _tape_ in my _hair_! What the hell?" Gritting her teeth, she pulled at it, letting out a little pained hiss when it came loose, taking a couple strands of hair with it. It stuck to her fingers when she tried to drop it, leaving her shaking her hand violently until it finally let go and fluttered down onto the table. "Do we really have to do this? It's so freaking dumb. It's free stuff. You think anybody's going to complain just because it's not wrapped?"

Again, he laughed, shaking his head at the pleading look on her face. "Yeah, I think we kind of have to. I don't think it would feel right if we just, like, handed gifts out as they were. It's all part of the Christmas experience, right? I mean, isn't part of the fun watching them open it, seeing the look on their face?"

With a dismissive snort, she waved off his words. "Is that worth... _all_ _this_?" She gestured to the scraps of paper and tape littering the floor around her and the table between them, dotted throughout with peeled-off price tags and balled up receipts. "I don't think so. Besides," she said, voice abruptly dropping slightly, taking on a flirty tone out of nowhere, "isn't there something a little more fun we could be doing instead?" Catching his eye, she reached across the coffee table, trailing fingers down the inside of his forearm. "We _are_ all alone..."

Scott blinked, looking from her face to her fingers and back again, before a grin slowly spread across his face. "Are you—are you trying to seduce me just to get out of wrapping Christmas presents?"

Malia reared back, face the picture of righteous indignation. " _What_? _No_. I would never..." Trailing off under his amused gaze, she tilted her head slightly, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Is it working?"

Throwing back his head, he let out a burst of laughter. "Oh yeah, definitely. But... we still need to finish this. Sorry."

She let out what might have been a growl and muttered something under her breath he chose to ignore, but grabbed another gift from her pile and reluctantly started the process again.

Leaning back, he watched her work in silence for a minute, more amused than he would ever admit as he saw her expression change, the grudging acceptance of the task at hand fading quickly, replaced by a look of determination, resolved to get things done. It was the same look she'd had on her face a month into their relationship when she'd decided she was going to cook them breakfast despite having no idea what she was doing.  And she'd done it, in the end, the frustration thrown in the trash with several batches of burnt bacon, washed away by the sense of accomplishment, happiness, and a satisfied smile he absolutely loved.

But tonight, that apparently wasn't meant to be. "Okay, that's it," she said a moment later, sitting back and throwing her hands up. "I'm done. I can't do this. I _won't_ do this."

Leaning forward, he looked over the table, biting his lip to keep from laughing when he spotted the problem. Once again, she'd cut her paper too short, this time somehow managing to take an oddly-shaped chunk out of one side as well.

"It's not that bad. I mean, we can fix it."

Crossing her arms, she shook her head stubbornly. "Nope. I quit. Everybody's just gonna have to take their gifts unwrapped. And if they don't like it, they can shove it right up their—"

"All right, all right, I got it." Shaking his head, he grinned as she fell silent, staring at him defiantly. "You want me to do it?"

She hesitated for a second, and he could see the desire to agree written all over her face. But slowly, she shook her head. "No, it's not your problem," she said reluctantly, frowning. "You shouldn't have to do all the work."

"I don't mind." Again, she hesitated briefly before shaking her head. "Okay, how's this, then? I'll make you a deal. We'll split the work. I'll do the rest of the wrapping for both of us, and you can..." He paused and picked up the marker off the table, arching an eyebrow as he held it out toward her. "You can write the names on them."

There was no hesitation this time. "Deal!" Snatching the marker out of his hand, she set it down next to her, then picked up her pile of gifts and dumped them on the table, where he could reach them. "Thanks, Scott. I owe you one."

"And don't think I won't collect." He shot her a wink, drawing a grin from her as he grabbed the nearest gift and got to work.

Quiet reigned in the room for several minutes then as he efficiently worked his way through the pile, only the nearly-muted TV providing a little background noise. Even with most of his focus on his task, he couldn't help but smile as he worked, a pleasant warm feeling in his chest. He loved moments like this, where it was just the two of them, doing some little thing together, comfortable in their silence, in each other. It always felt to him like a glimpse at the future, to a time when things wouldn't be quite so crazy, so violent, when every day could be little more like this, him and her just living their lives together.

"Next year," she said suddenly, drawing his attention to her, "I think we should go in together on all the gifts. Cut the whole workload in half, y'know?"

He had to take a second before he could respond, as that warmth in his chest surged. She said it so casually, like it was a given that a year from now they'd still be together, like there was no other possibility. And to him, there really wasn't. Four and a half months they'd been together, and he'd never been more sure of anything, or anybody than he was of her and what they were doing together.

 "Yeah," he finally managed, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat as their eyes met, "Yeah, that's... I'd like that."

Picking up on the emotion in his voice, she flash him a soft smile, the kind that made his heart beat just a little faster, the kind that told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. Then, abruptly, her smile shifted slightly, morphing into a smirk. "Or I guess we could just get some of those pre-made bows, you know the ones you can just stick on stuff? That would work too. Or gift-bags. That's what my dad does. He sucks at wrapping stuff too. We have options, is what I mean."

Unable to stop himself, he let out an amused snort, slowly shaking his head at the teasing light in her eyes as he refocused on the wrapping. They lapsed into comfortable silence again at that point, both eager to get through what was left of the dwindling pile.

It lasted right until he was starting on the final gift, when she suddenly spoke. "So, I have a question."

He looked up, curious. "Yeah?"

"Well, it's not really a question. More of an observation." He nodded, gesturing for her to go on. Reaching down, she tapped a single finger on the pile of wrapped presents. "I couldn't help but notice none of these are for me."

Unable pass up the opportunity to get her back, he shrugged and said, "Who says I got you anything?" He held her gaze for a moment, hoping for some reaction, but when she just crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, he broke and frowned. "Nothing, huh?" She shook her head. "All right, I tried. Your gift was wrapped and hidden away the day I got it."

She pointed up the stairs. "Hidden in our room?"

"Nope."

Her eyes narrowed. "Your mom's room?"

"It's not in the house. Derek's keeping it for me." Grinning, he slowly shook his head. "I know you too well. If I'd kept it here, you would have found it weeks ago." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, waving a finger in the air between them. "Come on, I know you went looking for it. You have the impulse control of a little kid, Lia, and you're not nearly as sneaky as you think." He mimed closing a drawer tight.

She shrugged, completely unashamed. "Hey, I spent a good chunk of my childhood as a coyote, remember? I feel like I'm sort of entitled to live some of the stuff I missed out on now. And part of that is snooping around, trying to find out what I'm getting for Christmas."

He snorted. "Fair enough."

She waited a couple beats. "So... no hint?"

"Nope."

"Come on."

"No."

" _Come on_."

"No. I want it to be a surprise."

She was silent for a second, and he didn't even need to look up to know she was pouting. "Fine," she finally said, and he did look up then as she crossed her arms and glared at him. "But don't expect me to give you any hints about your gift either."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Unlike some people, I _like_ waiting until Christmas to find out what I'm getting. And... I'm done." Letting out a relieved sigh, he handed her the last of the gifts, then leaned back and stretched expansively as she finished it off and set it with the rest.

"Finally," she muttered, as she joined him on the couch, cuddling into his side as he settled his arm over her shoulders. "How about we wrap as we buy next year?"

"Sounds good to me." Smiling to himself, he leaned his head against her and just took a second to appreciate the moment, being there with her, alone and happy and bathed in the colourful light coming off the Christmas tree. Then, "What do you wanna do now? More Friends? More food? Maybe we should clean up the mess we just made?"

She scoffed. "No way. That was hard work. We deserve a break." He chuckled deep in his throat and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. "Actually, I was thinking maybe we could watch some Christmas movies. That's what I've done on Christmas Eve the last two years, and I don't know." She shrugged sheepishly, ducking her head. "I guess... I guess it's kinda like my own tradition now, y'know? And maybe..." She looked at him, a tentative smile on her face, "maybe it could be our tradition."

There was that warm feeling again. "Yeah," he said softly, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Yeah, that sounds really good. Anything specific you want to see?" She immediately started rattling off a list of movies, some of which he'd never even heard of, and before too long, he had to cut her off, letting out an amused breath as he shook his head. "Hey, you know we can't be up all night, right? It's gonna be an early morning  and a busy day tomorrow. Plus," he tacked on, grinning, "if we aren't asleep, Santa won't come."

Whatever reaction he thought his joke was going to get, it certainly wasn't the one he got.

"Good," she said, screwing up her face and shuddering. "Santa is super creepy."

Bemused, he raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Santa," she repeated. "He's terrifying."

He waited a beat, eyes slowly narrowing. " _What_?"

Pulling back, she turned to face him, and he was shocked by just how serious her expression was. Usually, he could tell when she was joking, either because she couldn't control her smile, or because he could pick up on the amusement in her scent. But this time, he couldn't tell. There were nothing in her scent, in her eyes, except for complete sincerity.

"He's creepy, Scott. Really creepy. He just comes into your house, touches your stuff, drinks your milk, like some kind of criminal." She shook her head. "Nope, don't like that."

He wasn't really sure how to respond. "It's—I— it's Santa. _Santa_. Jolly fat guy, beloved figure all around the world. Y'know, one of the good guys. I don't—he brings presents for kids!"

"Yeah," she said, nodding, "and that's great for kids. It's all whimsical and fun. And then you get older, and you realise it's just some weird old guy who knows when you're sleeping, knows everything you do, and can just break into your house like it's nothing. He could do anything he wanted. What are you gonna do? Call the cops? He's Santa. They're not gonna do anything. Like I said, super creepy."

For a second, he just looked at her, mouth gaping open. "I don't—did you just make Santa Claus _sinister_?"

"Didn't take much. Super creepy."

"But it's Santa!"

"Yeah, and if he shows up here, I'm gonna kick his ass."

"I—Malia, he's not even real. It's all just a story. He's just a myth."

She scoffed. "Yeah, says the _werewolf_."

At that, his jaw snapped shut, and he just stared at her, eyes wide. He had no idea how what to say to that. And he couldn't stop his mind from considering it, because as unbelievable as it was, she wasn't wrong. If there was one thing he'd learned since being bitten, it was how little he really knew about the world and all the things in it, the things most people assumed were just stories, just legends. For all he knew, the guy was real. Or at least the story was based on some kind of truth. And he couldn't suppress the involuntary shudder that rocked him then as he considered the possible implications of that.

"I— why did you have to say that?" he finally asked, brow furrowed as he met her gaze. "Now there's no way I'm sleeping tonight."

"Don't worry. If he breaks in, I'll protect you. And—" Her serious mien abruptly cracked then, a wide grin spreading across her face as amusement burned to life in her eyes. "I'm kidding, Scott," she said, and he could hear the laughter in her voice. "I don't believe in Santa, and if he somehow is real, I don't think he's evil. I do really wish you could see your face right now though, because it's hilarious."

Cheeks flushed slightly from embarrassment, he shook his head, lips twisted in a heavy frown. "Not funny. You're not funny. You think you are, but you're not."

"Hilarious," she repeated, reaching out to softly pat his cheek. "Come on, admit it. I got you."

"Nope. Not even gonna dignify that with a response. Instead," he continued, rising to his feet under her amused gaze, "I'm gonna grab the leftover pizza. You pick a movie and get it started. And we're not going to talk about Santa for the rest of the night. It's been a good day. Let's not ruin it."

Her laughter followed him as he headed for the kitchen, shaking his head. As quickly as he could, he grabbed the rest of the pizza and a couple sodas, and returned to the living room, where Malia had started a movie and cleared off the coffee table to make room for the food. She looked vaguely preoccupied, but he didn't think anything of it as he settled back down in his seat and reached for a slice.

"Scott?"

Pausing, he turned his head and found her looking back with an oddly vulnerable look on her face, all the amusement of a few moments ago gone. "Yeah?"

"Today... it really was a good day, right? I mean, this is..." She trailed off, flushing slightly as her eyes slid off somewhere to his left. "Sorry, I just—this kinda felt perfect to me, but I know we didn't really do anything, and I want you to—"

"Hey, hey." Straightening up, he turned his body to fully face her and reached out, gently framing her face with both hands. "This was the best day. Really. I wish every day could be like this." He saw her face light up at that and leaned in for a slow, lingering kiss that left his head swimming and his lips tingling. When he pulled back, looked in her eyes, he could see the emotion there, and felt his heart skip a beat.  "I love you."

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fluffy little fic, a moment in the life of Scott and Malia the day before their first Christmas together. I might do another one like this for over the next week, but I'm not sure. I've got some ideas, but it's going to be a hectic week, so no guarantees. In case I don't get it done, happy holidays, everybody. Hope you all have a good time.


	13. Tired

**Tired**

The second the door closed behind him, Scott slumped back against it, closed his eyes, and let out a shuddering breath. For a moment, he didn't move, just stood there, still, silent, appreciating the fact he was home, he'd made it, he was safe.

"Scott?"

The first genuine bit of happiness he'd felt in days flared up then as he looked up and saw Malia standing there, in the doorway to their bedroom, her lips curled in a wide smile. The second their eyes met, he was moving forward, they both were, meeting halfway, in the center of the room. He never hesitated, wrapping his arms around her, not even trying to stifle his desperate need to be close to her as he pulled her in and buried his face in her hair. The notion that he was holding her too tight briefly flashed through his mind, but he ignored it, just incapable in the moment of holding back.

If she was caught off-guard by his greeting, she didn't show it. Usually after being apart for a few days, it was all kissing, laughter, joy at being reunited. Not whatever this was. But she took it in stride, holding him close, swaying softly back and forth as he breathed slowly, deeply, taking in her scent, the scent that told him he was home.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there, silent, before she finally spoke. "Are you all right?" He could hear the concern in her voice, knew the uncharacteristic display had to be worrying her. "Is everybody else all right?"

"I'm fine," he said, words muffled by her hair, "everybody's fine."

"You sure?" Slowly, soothingly, her hand began to move, rubbing a circle on his back. "You don't seem fine."

"I'm okay." He took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, then finally pulled back until they were face to face. He was fairly certain the reassuring smile he tried to force then came out more like a grimace, but it was the best he could do. "Everybody's okay. No casualties. Not even any injuries, really. Everything worked out. It was a good day." His voice sounded flat even to his own ears.

"Yeah?" she prompted, arching an eyebrow. "What's wrong, then?"

"Nothing." Leaning in, he touched his forehead to hers. "I just really missed you, Lia." Tilting his head, he finally kissed her, short and sweet, before reaching up, cupping her cheek gently. "I missed you so much."

She sighed softly, leaning into his hand. "I missed you too. I'm sorry I couldn't be there. I just—"

"I know." He smiled faintly. "Next time."

It was unusual for them not to go out into the field together, especially when it was for something like this, a two-day trip up the coast to try and save a pair of shifters Monroe was targeting, where a fight had been inevitable from the start. After a year of this, of working and living and loving together, there was nobody else he'd rather have fighting next to him. The trust level that existed between them made things so much easier, almost seamless, no matter how bad things got. But she'd been forced to stay behind, having made some promises to her dad she couldn't get out of, as he'd headed out with Argent, Derek, and Liam instead.

They faded back into silence then, and again he pulled her close, the overwhelming need to be with her, to by physically touching her not quite done with him yet. He knew she had to have more questions, knew he was being odd, but he couldn't bring himself to stop, to pull back, to act normal.

"Come on," she whispered after a moment, slowly backing toward the couch. He never broke contact, shuffling along with her until she sat, pulling him down along with her. Almost on autopilot, he stretched out, laying his head in her lap, closing his eyes as her fingers threaded through his hair. "What's wrong, Scott? Talk to me."

"I'm okay," he murmured, so soft he wasn't even sure she could hear it. It wasn't for her anyway. It was for him. Maybe if he said it enough, it would be true. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

He wasn't okay. He knew he wasn't okay. He just wasn't sure exactly what was wrong. He felt unsettled, a little disoriented, like his mind was clouded, or just a little out of step with reality. There was nothing specifically wrong, and yet things didn't feel right. They hadn't all day. They hadn't for days. They hadn't for weeks, slowly getting worse, like he was walking through a shadow that was gradually getting darker.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked softly after a couple of minutes, not pushing, just floating it out there, letting him know she was ready and willing to listen.

He remained silent, the feeling of her fingers gently playing in his hair almost lulling him to sleep. He felt tired, exhausted, heavy, just the idea of trying to voice his thoughts seeming like too great of a task. He didn't want to speak, or think, or do anything but lie there, soaking up her warmth, her attention, as far away from the rest of the world as he could get. But slowly, gradually his eyes fluttered open and suddenly he was talking, the words trickling out at first, then pouring out as his voice grew stronger, steadier.

"It's—I just—it's hard to explain," he said, rolling onto his back so he could look up at her as he searched for the right words. "I think... I think I'm just tired. But not physically. Or not _just_ physically, I guess. Mentally. Emotionally. I don't know." He shook his head and smiled sheepishly as her eyebrows drew together, her fingers stilling. "We won tonight, right? Nobody got hurt, everything went even better than I could have hoped. And it doesn't matter. It just... I should feel happy. I should feel relieved. I should feel... proud? I don't know." He let out a heavy sigh. "All I feel is tired and... maybe dread."

"Dread?" she prompted, voice barely above a whisper as she slid her right hand over his chest, palm coming to rest over his heart.

"Yeah, I think. After everything, we were in the car, coming home, and everybody was happy, or... excited, maybe. That post-fight high, y'know? And I... all I could think was _how long until the next one_?" Shaking his head, he drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "Liam's talking about sleeping in, about doing stuff, and I'm just resetting the clock in my head," he murmured, hand finding hers, clasping over it. "I'm counting down to the next call, the next fight, the next time we have to go out and deal with something we might not all come back from. There's no—there's no relief anymore. There's no respite. There's just..."

He trailed off because he wasn't sure how to end that sentence, that thought. He wasn't sure the words existed to properly describe the state he was living in these days, perpetually suspended between the last fight and the next one, never knowing exactly when it would happen but always aware it was definitely, inevitably coming.

"It's really hard to see the end sometimes," he continued a moment later, quietly, more to himself than her. "Like tonight. We win, but the only thing we have to show for it is we're not dead. It kinda feels like I'm being buried under this, so deep I'll never be able to climb out. And I just... I'm just tired, Lia. I'm so tired."

She waited a beat after he fell silent, eyes locked on his, expression inscrutable. "I know, Scott, I know." Slowly, her hand came up, cupping the side of his face, thumb gently stroking his cheek. "You need a break. We all need a break."

He flashed her a wry smile. "What's that?"

"Good question," she replied absently, looking off to her right then as her fingers found their way back to his hair, movements slow, soft. His eyes immediately started to close, whatever magic her hands were working too powerful for him to resist. "Go to sleep," she whispered as he yawned and squirmed closer, trying to lose himself in her, her scent, her touch. "Get some rest. We'll figure it out."

The words weren't even all the way out of her mouth before he was dozing off, disappearing into the dark. It wasn't a deep sleep, his consciousness never turning all the way off, distantly aware of her fingers against his scalp, of her slow breathing, of the little clicks she made with her tongue, the same sounds she always made when she was thinking about something, trying to solve a problem. All things he took note of, none enough to bring him fully back, out of the pleasant fog of slumber.

Scott wasn't sure how long he slept, fading in and out of awareness. All he knew was when he finally did make that shift back to reality, Malia was talking softly to somebody. He could still feel her under his head, could still smell her all around him, so he knew without looking that she hadn't left. Had to be a phone call.

"Okay, thanks, Derek." Her voice was low, clearly trying not to disturb him. "Yeah. I'll let you know. Bye."

He waited until he heard her set her phone down before he spoke. "What's wrong now?" he rasped, still not moving. If Derek was calling this late, and so soon after returning home, it had to be something bad.

"Nothing." His eyes flared open, one eyebrow raising up. Seeing his disbelief, she huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. " _Really_. Nothing's wrong. I called him."

His brow knit. "What? Why?"

"Because he was last on the list."

Scott hesitated for a second, unsure if she was being intentionally confusing, or if his mind just hadn't fully re-engaged yet. "Uh... what?"

Lips twitching, she shook her head, amusement written all over her face. "He was last on the list. I already called your mom, Liam, Deaton, and Argent."

"Uh... what?"

At that, she let out a little peal of laughter, one that faded into a sigh as she looked down into his eyes. "You need a break. I mean, we all do. But you _really_ need one. You just... you take on so much and I've seen it wearing on you. What you told me earlier..." She paused, and he could see the worry in her eyes, the worry for him, and felt his heart clench. He hated seeing that, hated that there wasn't really anything he could do about it, to make it disappear. "It scares me, Scott, more than anything. I've seen you fight a hundred times, watched you go up against people and things you shouldn't have had a chance against, and none of that scares me as much as the thought of you losing yourself in all this... _shit_ , this never-ending negativity."

He swallowed heavily as she trailed off, fingers tenderly stroking his cheek. "Hey, I'm okay, Malia. Really. This... it'll pass. It's just, I don't know, a moment of weakness and I—"

"No!" He flinched at the vehemence in her tone. " _No_ ," she repeated, softer, gentler, but no less emphatic. "Not weakness. You're not weak, you're never weak. You've just got the world on your shoulders right now, and nobody can carry that weight forever." She paused for a beat, and he watched as her expression shifted, jaw setting, resolve darkening her eyes. "You need a break, and I'm giving you one. I called everyone and told them not to call you or me unless it was a matter of life and death. No missions, no war, no dealing with other people's problems, and no work. For all intents and purposes, you and I are entirely incommunicado until we decide not to be."

As touched as he was by the gesture, as happy as the thought of the two of them taking some alone time, away from the war, away from everything, he wasn't quite ready to give in just yet. "Malia, I can't just—"

"You _can_ ," she interjected, raising an eyebrow in challenge as she cut him off. "Derek and Argent are going to keep an eye on everything. You know those two. If anybody can handle things without you, it's them. They want to do this for you, Scott. They love you just as much as I do." A beat. "Almost as much as I do."

Again, he had to swallow around the lump in his throat, more touched than he cared to admit. But he wasn't done. "I can't just not go to work. We kinda need money."

She shook her head. "No. We've got enough saved up for a little while, for as long as we need. That's not even a consideration right now, so stop it. Stop trying to get out of this. It's happening, baby. Accept it."

He knew that tone, knew what it meant. There was no arguing with her when she was like this, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn't want to argue. If she hadn't done this, he would have gone on for as long as he needed to, fighting through the days without complaint, never even thinking of it, that he needed it. But he did. She was right. He needed to get out of his own head for awhile, remember there was a world outside of the one he'd been slogging through lately, the one they were fighting to try and keep safe.

"Okay." Her face split in a wide grin and he couldn't help but smile back, looking up at her, accepting. "But I don't even know what a... a break, a vacation, or whatever looks like. What do we do?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care. We can lie around the house in our underwear and watch movies. We can eat a bunch of junk food and stay in bed. We can drive across the country and visit Lydia or Stiles." He chuckled at that, and she mirrored it, eyes bright, full of amusement, of happiness. "We can do whatever we want."

"That sounds..." Trailing off, he let out a sigh, slowly shaking his head. "That kinda sounds like heaven, not gonna lie. All of it." She just nodded, eyes locked on his, and he felt a surge of warmth in his chest. "I love you."

"I know. I love you too." Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now, let's go to bed. As of right now, we are officially on vacation, and I don't want to waste a minute. So let's sleep, so we can get started on _whatever_ tomorrow morning. Or, uh, maybe tomorrow afternoon. We don't have to get up early."

Chuckling, he sat up and gave her his hand, letting her pull him to his feet. "Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recently, I found a short piece I'd written a couple months ago when I was working on an idea similar to this, and decided to try and turn it into something a little more substantial. This is the result. I wanted things to feel a little darker than I usually go before the fluff hit and really kicked into high-gear. Not sure how successful that was, but I think I like what I ended up with. Hope you all enjoy it.


	14. Good Morning

**Good Morning**

The second Scott's alarm went off and he snapped back to wakefulness, he regretted setting it. He regretted making plans that called for him to get up before noon. He hated the fact he had to crawl out of bed, away from the comfort and warmth of his blankets, of Malia, stretched out alongside him and still sleeping peacefully. He _really_ hated that he had to disturb her when she looked so comfortable, so at ease.

But plans were plans, so with a heavy sigh, he grabbed his phone off the bedside table, killed the alarm, then rolled onto his side, toward her. She was lying on her stomach, facing him, one arm under her pillow, the other on the bed between them. For a moment, he just watched her, watched the strands of her hair that had fallen over her cheek move slightly each time she exhaled, listened to the slow, even beating of her heart, a cadence he was so familiar with after months of sleeping next to her he was sure he'd be able to pick it out of a crowd without even trying.

Unable to stop himself, he reached for her, gently brushing her hair back from her face, fingers lingering against her cheek. A soft smile curved his lips when she moved, unconsciously leaning into his hand, seeking it out.

As he ghosted his thumb just under her eye, he opened his mouth, ready to wake her despite his reluctance. But as she stirred, reacting to his touch, he hesitated, stilled. They may have made plans to do some early Christmas shopping with Lydia while she was in town for Thanksgiving, but that didn't mean they had to get up right this second. The stores would still be there in a few hours, and he was sure their friend wouldn't mind spending a little extra quality time with her mother.

Struck by a sudden idea, he pulled back, holding absolutely still until she settled back down. With things as busy as they usually were, between the stuff with Monroe, work, and their friends and family, he rarely had the time to do the little thoughtful things for her he liked doing most, the things that brought a smile to her face, made her happy. Things like breakfast in bed. But he had time today, and with that in mind, he slowly climbed out of bed, taking special care not to move the mattress too much, not to jar her. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he threw on a t-shirt and headed for the kitchen, padding softly down the stairs.

The house was nearly silent as he got to work, gathering what he needed, turning on the coffeemaker. His mom was gone, working an early shift. She wouldn't be back until sometime in the afternoon, so it was just him and Malia there, a thought that brought a little smile to his face.

Humming to himself as he stood by the stove, watching some bacon sizzle in a frying pan, Scott completely missed the soft footfalls coming down the stairs and into the kitchen. What he didn't miss was the pair of arms winding around his waist from behind as Malia pressed up against his back, her lips finding and kissing that one spot on his neck that always made him shiver.

"Morning," she murmured, breath warm against his skin. He leaned back into her and grinned as she hooked her chin on his shoulder, peering down at the stovetop. "That smells _really_ good."

Dropping a hand down, he clasped it over hers where they rested just above the waistband of his pants and squeezed softly. "Good morning. You know," he said conversationally, as he flipped a few slices of bacon with the spatula in his other hand, "it's kinda hard to make you breakfast in bed if you don't actually _stay_ in bed."

"I smelled bacon," she stated, like that explained everything. Which, knowing her, it very much did.

"Well, good timing on your part." He tapped her hands gently, and she took the hint, stepping back and freeing him up to slid the finished food onto a plate sitting on the counter next to him. He didn't even have a chance to drop the empty pan in the sink before her hand snaked out and snagged a piece of bacon. "Good?" he asked, fighting a grin as she let out a little appreciative noise.

"Have I told you lately how awesome you are?"

He let out a throaty chuckle at that and turned to face her, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. "That good, huh?"

"It's _great_." As she finished it off, she closed her eyes and let out a moan he was pretty sure he'd never heard outside of the bedroom. "Seriously, it's the best."

"Wow," he breathed, shaking his head. "I'm starting to think you love bacon more than you love me."

"Not more," she replied, eyes sparkling mischievously as she held out her hand for him to take. "I'd say you're tied. But the bacon can't cook itself, so you've got the edge."

Scott laughed again as he gave a little tug on her hand, guiding her back toward him. She came willingly, letting him pull her in close, her arms wrapping around him as she sank into a slow, lingering kiss that left his head swimming. When they broke apart, he reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, trailing his fingers over her skin, eyes locked on hers. Flushing slightly under his gaze, she shifted self-consciously, lips twitching.

"What?"

He slowly shook his head. "Nothing. Just... you look... I don't know. Happy, I guess. Relaxed." He shrugged, mirroring her expression as a wide smile spread across her face. "It's nice."

Relaxation was something both of them had struggled with in the months since the initial fight with Monroe, and the virtual war that had sprung up as a result. It seemed like at least once a week, one or both of them were heading out of Beacon Hills to help deal with some awful situation, fighting directly against blood-thirsty hunters, helping rescue some unfortunate shifter caught in Monroe's crosshairs, and sometimes both. That kind of mindset, that perpetual state of readiness, of always being on-guard, made finding any kind of meaningful downtime next to impossible. Scott did what he could to try and put it all aside when they were together, to just live in the moment when they were at home, safe and secure, but far too often for his taste, she woke up looking like he felt, like the weight of the world was on their shoulders.

But not today. Today, she looked happy, peaceful, the cloud of darkness they'd been living in since the summer gone for the moment. And he loved it, loved seeing that brightness on her face, in her eyes, loved that it was him she was looking at, that he was the one who got to wake up to that. He loved her.

"I am happy." She kissed him again, soft, gentle, quick, then pulled away, moving over to the window and pulling the curtain aside. "The sun is shining. You cooked bacon. Nobody's tried to kill us in, like, two weeks. All good things."

 He grinned. "One of those things is not _quite_ like the others."

"All good things," she repeated, shooting him a mock-glare as she carefully enunciated each word.

His grin widened as he held up his hands in surrender, only to disappear an instant later when he felt his phone go off in his pocket. " _Great_. Who the hell's calling this early?" he muttered, as he reached for it.

"Probably Lydia." There was something in her voice, an odd lilt that had him freezing, looking up at her, eyes narrowed, suspicious. Meeting his gaze, she shrugged, lips twitching, fighting a smile for about two seconds before one spread across her face. "Before I came downstairs, I _may_ have texted her and told her she was on her own today."

"Oh, yeah?" He couldn't help but smile back, heart soaring at the thought they no longer had to go out, could just take the day for themselves. Reaching out, he took her hands in his and drew her in close. "Now, why would you do something like that?"

"Because," she murmured, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips, "as much as I love Lydia." Another kiss. "And as much as I'd like to hang out with her." Another kiss. "I think you and I." Another kiss. "Deserve a little alone time." Again, and she lingered this time, not breaking away until he was breathless, thoughts clouded, heart pounding. "Right?"

It took a second for his mind to catch up to reality, and he had to give his head a shake before he could find the words. "Right." His voice was barely more than a growl as he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, taking a second to try and gather himself. When he finally felt he had himself under control again, he pulled back, ignoring the self-satisfied look on her face, and arched an eyebrow. "You know she's probably super pissed, right?"

"I don't care."

He snorted. "Yeah, you say that now, but what about in an hour when she hasn't stopped blowing up our phones?"

"We'll turn them off."

"And when she shows up here?"

She let out an annoyed grunt. "We'll lock the door. She'll take the hint. She's not an idiot. We can hang out tomorrow. She can spend today with her mom instead. And we," she said, voice softening as she hooked her arms over his shoulders, "can have all day to ourselves." Leaning in, she started kissing her way along his jaw-line. "Just you and me and whatever we want to do."

Lacing his fingers together behind her back, he tilted his head slightly, giving her better access. "That sounds pretty good," he murmured, voice husky. "Anything in particular you want to do?"

"I can think of a few things." Malia pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and even before she continued, he could see the teasing light in her eyes. "I mean, your mom's been after us to clean your room for, like, a month. We could do that, I guess. I think the lawn needs to be cut..." She trailed off, and he could feel her whole body shaking with suppressed mirth as she fought the urge to crack. "Or... I guess we could go back to bed, see what happens." He was almost impressed at how nonchalant she sounded as she threw out, "Y'know, if you want to be boring or whatever."

"Boring, huh?" She let out a little squeak as he suddenly pulled her close, holding her tight as he claimed her mouth with a hard kiss, taking charge for the first time all morning. This time, when they broke apart, her eyes were glassy, unfocused, and it was his turn to grin. "How about we go upstairs right now and I prove just how boring we're _not_?"

To his surprise, she shook her head. "No."

"No?"

"Not yet." The grin she shot him then made his heart skip a beat. "That is definitely gonna happen, and it will definitely be soon. But first... the bacon's getting cold."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot of substance to this one. Just pure domestic fluff that came about because I had a shitty day and felt like writing something super soft to balance it out. Also, I haven't updated in fucking forever, which I apologise for. More coming soon hopefully, as well as potentially some updates on some other stories. Hope you enjoyed this.


	15. I Think You Might Be My Soulmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I think you might be my soulmate.

“Do you believe in fate?”

Malia’s question came out of nowhere, catching Scott off-guard, breaking the comfortable silence between them. For the better part of a half-hour, the only sounds around them had been the usual sound of the woods at night, small animals scurrying about, the breeze blowing through the trees. A peaceful soundtrack to their evening, lying together on a blanket in a clearing out behind her house, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, watching the star-filled sky above.

“Uh, I don’t know,” he replied, not quite sure what she was asking. Brow furrowed, he took a second to consider things, never having given it much thought before. “I guess I—I think I do. Or, sort of, anyway. Not that our lives are set in stone or anything like that. But maybe there are certain things that were always supposed to happen, no matter what.”

She turned on her side, propped her head up on her free hand as she looked at him. “Like what?”

“Like me getting bit.” Pausing, he blew out a breath, slowly shaking his head. “When it first happened, I would have given anything to get back to a normal life.  _Anything._  But now, I can’t even picture what that would look like anymore. I can’t imagine being anything different than what I am. I think what I am is what I was always supposed to be, y'know? One way or another, I was going to end up like this. Maybe the circumstances could have been different, but the end result was always going to be this.”

Silence reigned again once he fell silent, and Scott was fairly certain she had no idea what he was talking about. He wasn’t even sure  _he_  knew what he meant. Every word was true, but it wasn’t like it was something he thought about often.

“Wow. That’s… yeah.” There was an undercurrent of something in her voice, a mixture of amusement and something else. She almost sounded impressed. “Did you just come up with that?”

He flashed her a sheepish grin. “That obvious?”

“No, just… you’ve never said anything like that before.”

“Never really thought about it before,” he admitted, shrugging. “Never really had to. But then  _somebody_  had to go and put me on the spot.” She grinned as he lifted their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of hers. “What about you? Do you believe in that stuff?”

It was her turn to shrug as he let their hands fall back on the blanket between them. “I didn’t. I mean, I never used to. Kinda too busy living life to worry about anything like that. But now…” She trailed off, lips pursed, then let out a little sigh. “Now I don’t know. So much has changed, and I guess it’s got me thinking about things a little differently.”

“What kind of things?”

“I mean… you, mostly. Us. This.” She gave his hand a little squeeze, lips twisting in a nervous smile as she met his questioning gaze. “I think you might be my soulmate.”

She said the words quietly, barely a whisper, like she was afraid he might laugh at her. Like he might take it as a joke. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he knew her, knew how she was, how she saw things. He knew that when she said things like that, talked about him, about their relationship, she said what she felt and she meant what she said. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about what had got her thinking about them in those terms.

“Yeah?” He kept his voice soft, matching hers, as he mirrored her position, rolling onto his side.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, eyes never leaving his as she slowly nodded, like she was trying to will him into believing her, into seeing just how serious she was. “Look at our lives. Look at how completely fucked up things are. People are constantly trying to kill us. We’re always looking over our shoulders because we never know when the next attack is coming, or where it’s coming from. We are at war. Which is just… I don’t have words for it. And yet…”

He gave her a moment after she trailed off, watched as her eyes moved to their hands, where she’d began tracing her thumb over his knuckles. “And yet…?”

“And yet…” Her eyes found his again. “I’m happy. It doesn’t matter how bad things are, how much shit I go through, when I’m with you, I’m happy. And don’t get me wrong,” she continued, talking faster, nerves showing through as she rushed to get her thoughts out, “I’m not saying you’re the  _only_  one that makes me happy. I love spending time with our friends, my dad, your mom. It’s not like I’m miserable when you’re not around or anything. I just—it’s different with you. Different from any other relationship in my life. Different in a way I never would have imagined. One look, one touch, and you can make the worst day good somehow. And that’s…” She shook her head, pure disbelief written all over her face. “There’s gotta be some bigger force at work there, right?”

It took him a second to realise she’d asked him a question. He was too caught up in watching her face, observing the different emotions there as she opened up. It was something he loved to see, something she did more and more the closer they got, as their relationship matured, deepened.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, smiling softly. “I don’t know if soulmates are real. I don’t know if fate or whatever has any say in who we end up with. What I do know is I love you and I love that we do that for each other, that we make each other’s life better just by being in it.”

Her lips twitched and she arched an eyebrow. “It’s not just me, then?”

“Nope.” Leaning in, he kissed her, soft but lingering, not breaking away until he felt her lips curve into a smile against his. Pulling back slightly, he looked into her eyes, felt and heard his own heart beating fast, echoing hers. “Soulmates, fated, or just two people in love. Whatever we are, I know we’re both exactly where we’re supposed to be. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing a few little prompt-based pieces. Probably gonna be a little rough.


	16. Sharing is Caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie

“You can’t leave.”

Scott, hand on the doorknob, froze in place, then slowly turned to face Malia. She was standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed, eyes on him and a heavy frown on her face.

“Uh, why not?” he asked, confused. It wasn’t like he was going far. He just had to go see Deaton about something for work, and then stop off at the supermarket to pick up a few things for his mom. He’d be back in an hour, maybe less. “Do you wanna come with me?”

“No.”

“Then why can’t I leave?”

“Because you’re wearing my hoodie.”

Brow furrowed, he looked down at himself, briefly wondering if he’d somehow managed to put on one of her shirts without noticing. But no, he hadn’t. It was his, one he wore all the time, a red one with his favourite lacrosse team’s logo stitched on the back. “Uh, no…” he said slowly, a bemused smile on his face as he looked back to her and shook his head. “This is mine.”

“Nope. It’s mine. I claimed it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You claimed it? You can’t just claim my clothes.”

“Sure I can. I do it all the time. It’s my right.”

“Your right?” He took a step toward her. “Says who?”

“Says the rules.”

Another step. “What rules?”

“The relationship rules. If it looks better on me than you, I have the right to claim it. That’s the rule.”

At that point, he had to take a second to acknowledge her ability to keep a straight face. He could see the slight twitching of her lips that told him she was fighting hard not to smile, the way she kept tapping her right foot, something she did reflexively when she was trying to suppress one emotion or another. Both telling signs to him that she was playing, but only because he’d seen them so often. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he was certain he’d have no idea she was messing with him. It was impressive, and a good reminder of why his decision to never play poker with her was the right one.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” he eventually said, grinning and taking another step toward her, just a few feet away now. “I don’t think any of my clothes look better on me than you. If you take them all, what’ll I wear?”

“My preference? Nothing.” She traced her eyes up and down his body slowly, lingering long enough to draw a slight flush to his cheeks. “But I never said I was gonna take everything. You can still wear it, just not when I want it. And I want that shirt. So, I if you don’t mind…” She reached out, tips of her fingers brushing his arm, and arched an eyebrow.

“But I want it too.”

“How about this?” she said softly as she moved, closed the distance between, stopping just inches away, never breaking eye contact. “I’ll trade you. You give me the hoodie, and I’ll give you…” Trailing off, she tilted her head and leaned in, slanting her lips over his. Her arms went around him as she kissed him hungrily, hands landing on his belt, pulling him tight against her and holding him there until the need for oxygen forced a break.

“Is this part of some kind of dastardly plan to steal all my clothes?” he asked through a smile as she pulled back. “Because, honestly, after that, I’m on-board.”

She scoffed, waving away his words. “It’s not stealing. We’re _sharing_. Sharing is caring. Now hand over the hoodie.” She held out her hand, an expectant look on her face, and he could only shake his head and grin as he stepped back and obediently slipped off the garment. She wasted no time in pulling it on, grinning triumphantly, her eyes locked on his the entire time. “See, was that so hard?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He forced himself to frown. “That’s my favourite shirt.”

“I know. That’s what makes this fun.”

Letting out a snort, he reached for her, drew her close. “You’re terrible, you know that?” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and lacing his fingers together behind her back.

“Yep.” She kissed him again, soft and quick, then leaned back just enough for him to see the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “But you love me anyway.”

“I do. I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt. I don't like this one as much as the last one. Struggled to do anything with it for whatever reason. But I eventually landed on this, and it works, I think, so here you go.


	17. Nowhere to Be

**Nowhere to Be**

As Scott gradually made the transition from deep sleep to wakefulness, he wasn't entirely sure what had prompted it. It could have been the beam of bright sunlight shining through the window and directly over his face. It could have been his mom's off-key singing, floating up from somewhere downstairs. Or it could have been the sensation of fingers trailing over his chest, tracing little designs against his skin, slowly, deliberately.

Cracking his eyes open, he looked to his left and found Malia looking back, her attention focused on where her fingers touched his flesh. Drawn by his movement, her gaze met his as her fingers stilled, her palm coming to rest over his heart.

"Sorry," she said softly, lips curving up in a grin that told him she wasn't really sorry at all. "Didn't mean to wake you."

He let out a throaty chuckle, his hand finding hers, sliding over it, clasping it to him. "No, of course not. You were just, what? Bored?"

"Pretty much. And..." She trailed off as she leaned in, sliding over him, pressing her lips to his. His free arm reflexively curled around her, holding her tight as he tilted his head slightly, luxuriating in the way she kissed him, how she felt against him. When she drew back, a smile on her face, he couldn't help but mirror her expression, heart beating wildly beneath her hand. "I just wanted to talk to you," she finished, voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you yesterday."

"I missed you too." She'd spent the day with her dad, after having lunch with him and his new girlfriend. Initially, they were both supposed to go, to meet the woman for the first time, but Deaton had needed him at work last-minute, so she'd gone alone. The plan had been just for them all to have lunch, but when Scott had to cancel, things had changed, and she'd ended up hanging out at home with her dad the rest of the day, taking advantage of the rare occurrence of them both being around and unoccupied at the same time. "I almost called to see if you were gonna come over last night."

She smiled. "You should have. I probably would have. I, uh, I had trouble getting to sleep," she admitted, voice getting softer. "I don't like going to sleep without you anymore. My own bed feels strange when you're not in it with me. Is that... weird? I mean, it's only been a month."

For a second, he was quiet, still, just looking at her, trying to gather himself after hearing his exact thoughts, exact experience recounted to him. It had taken him forever to fall asleep alone, his bed feeling cold, empty without her. So quickly he'd grown used to having her there, having her nearby, in his space but the farthest thing from an imposition. Hearing she felt the same hit him hard, a little thing that just spoke volumes about their relationship, what existed between them.

"No," he finally managed to get out, after swallowed heavily. "It's not weird. Not even a little bit. It's exactly the same for me." They shared a soft smile and another quick kiss, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth, the understanding between them, before he cleared his throat and said, "When'd you get here?"

"About twenty minutes ago. I was going to wake you up, but you looked so peaceful."

"So you figured you'd just crawl into bed and feel me up instead?" he asked, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

She arched an eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"

"Only about how you've got all these clothes on." Reaching out, he plucked at the collar of her shirt, letting out a chuckle when she slapped his hand away and shot him a mock glare. She caught his hand before he could draw it back and pressed a kiss to his palm, drawing a smile from him as she moved, pulling back and perching herself cross-legged on the bed next to him. "How did things go with Stephanie?"

"Ugh." Her expression soured. "It was terrible. She's so annoying."

He snorted as he sat up and slid back until he was leaning against the wall. "Come on, she can't be that bad." Henry seemed pretty smitten with her whenever he brought her up, only had glowing things to say about her. "Your dad seems to think she's some kind of angel or something."

"Yeah, well, he's wrong. Seriously, Scott, she's just..." She shook her head and let out a little growl, eyes briefly flaring blue. "She dumped a glass of wine on me."

His eyes widened. "On purpose?"

She huffed out a little breath. "No, it was an accident. She just can't sit still when she's telling a story." She waved her arms weakly and rolled her eyes. "And she never stops talking. Never. Don't get me wrong, she's a nice person, but oh my god, I've never wanted to smack somebody that much before. _Never_."

Shaking his head, he grinned. "She was probably just nervous. Gotta imagine meeting your significant other's kid for the first time is a little nerve-wracking. Even worse because I'm sure your dad told her your story. I mean, as much of it as he knows, anyway. She probably just didn't know what to expect. And, honestly, once she did meet you, the nerves probably didn't let up much, 'cause you can be... um..." He trailed off as her brow knit, eyes narrowing, and shook his head again. "You're just—you can be intimidating, Lia. Like, really intimidating. It's not a bad thing, at all. You just, uh, you have a very forceful personality."

She was quiet for a moment, expression inscrutable as she studied his face closely. "Intimidating, huh?" she finally said, slowly nodding. "Yeah, yeah, okay. That's... that's not bad. There are worse things to be, I guess."

"Definitely."

"So... what about you? Do I intimidate you?"

"Nope. You make me feel a lot of things," he said, as he reached for her hand, took it in his, "but intimidated is not one of them. Honestly, I like it. You just..." He pointed straight ahead with his free hand. "You say what you think, you don't take any shit, you go after what you want. I appreciate that about you."

She smirked, raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you appreciate about me?"

"It's just one of about a million things." Bringing their joined hands up, he kissed the back of hers, eyes locked on hers, seeing the mixture of amusement and love in their depths. "But all that being said..." he continued, letting their hands drop back down on the bed between them, "you are gonna play nice, right? Your dad really likes her."

"I know." She let out a little sigh, lips turning down in a slight frown. "We talked about it after she left. I promised to try, for him."

"Good. And I promise I'll be there next time. I'll be the buffer. She can spill her wine on me." He grinned when she shook her head and rolled her eyes. "No, really. I'll dive between the two of you, Matrix-style. It'll be awesome."

"My hero," she deadpanned.

"Always." Before she could reply, he suddenly yawned, face disappearing as his mouth opened wide. "Sorry. I'm just a little—"

"Tired?" He shrugged, trying to suppress a second yawn trying desperately to escape. From the way her lips were twitching, fighting a smile, he figured he wasn't doing a very good job of it. "When do you work today?"

"Not until three."

"Good. Come on." Shifting, she stretched out on her side of the bed, and gestured for him to do the same. Amused, he did as directed, taking up the same position he'd been sleeping in earlier. "So, here's what I'm thinking," she said, as she threw an arm across his stomach and cuddled into his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. "Neither of us got much sleep last night. I know I tossed and turned. You?" He grunted an affirmative. "Right. Now I've got nowhere to be. You have nowhere to be. How does a nap sound?"

"Like heaven," he murmured, dropping a kiss on her forehead, even as he reached for the blanket and tugged it up over them. "Like heaven."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff. Probably more coming soon. Hope you all enjoy it.


	18. Home

**Home**

Leaning back against the side of Argent's SUV, Scott closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now that the fight was over, now that a little time had passed, the adrenaline had faded and he could feel the sting of every wound he'd sustained, all the dried blood caked on his skin, itchy and irritating. Nothing major, nothing life-threatening, but enough to make him uncomfortable, to remind just how dangerous the situation was, to drive home just how easily things could have gone the other way.

For him, the reminder was worse than the pain. He'd like nothing more than to pretend they hadn't just spent three days searching out and taking down a cell of hunters who'd been wreaking havoc on the supernatural population near San Diego. He'd love to forget how exhausted he was, how much anger and frustration he'd been carrying inside the entire time, the worry for his friends, his pack as they put their lives on the line. The anxiety that came with this struggle, this war still just as bad now as it had been the first time, the tenth, the fiftieth they'd gone out and done what they had to do, and sometimes he was sure it was killing him. The pain, he could handle. But the rest just never seemed to get any better, any easier.

"You want to sit down?" Malia's voice was soft as she settled in next to him, her touch gentle as she reached for his hand, threaded her fingers through his. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Cracking open his eyes, he lazily turned toward her, and flashed her a reassuring smile. "No, I'm good. Just kinda wiped." He was being honest, but her concerned expression never wavered, and he couldn't tell if she'd been convinced. There was a telling furrow in her brow as she studied his face closely, the same one he saw every time she was worried about him. "Really. I'm okay. I just need some sleep, y'know? But it can wait. Argent should be back soon." He'd gone to get them rooms for the night, while Derek went looking for food, leaving them to wait by the car.

"You sure? There's a bench right over there." She nodded toward the wall of the motel they were parked outside of, a rundown building just off the freeway. It was the kind of place nobody would willingly stay at if they had any other options, the kind of place that had become depressingly familiar over the last few years.

"I'm pretty sure if I sit down right now, you're gonna have to carry me to our room."

It was meant as a joke, but even as he said the words, he could feel his legs wobble beneath him, his exhaustion rapidly catching up to him. He'd tried to nap a bit in the car, but he'd been too full of adrenaline to actually get any sleep. Just sitting still had been a real task. Instead, he'd spent the entire hour staring out the window at the passing scenery, his hand in hers, replaying the events of the night in his head as Argent and Derek quietly plotted their next moves in the front. Now, sore and stiff, he wanted the next time he actually sat down to rest to be the last time he moved for the night.

"Don't think I won't," she said in a low voice, giving his hand a squeeze, prompting him to grin and bump her shoulder softly with his own.

"I know you would. But you don't have to. I'm all right, I promise." He held her gaze until she nodded, then brought his free hand up and cupped the side of her face, brushing his thumb lightly over a small scratch on her cheek, just under her eye. It was one of many, her wounds just as numerous as his, some visible, some hidden by her clothes, the remnants of a hard-fought battle. "What about you? Are you okay?"

She scoffed. "Come on, this is nothing. I'm fine." Her words were dismissive, but lacking any real edge as she leaned into his touch and clasped her hand over his. And when she spoke again a second later, her eyes meeting his, her voice was softer, genuine, meant to reassure. "I'm fine, Scott. I'm okay."

He believed her. They'd been together too long, been through too much together for either of them to think trying to downplay their injuries was a good idea anymore. Maybe at the beginning, when their relationship was new and they thought they were protecting each other by pretending they weren't hurting. He'd tried, at first, used to keeping the worst of his damage to himself, second nature to keep his mom from worrying about wounds he knew would heal before long. And he'd tried it with Malia, for the same reason, until she'd called him out, pointed out she knew first-hand just how quickly he'd heal, but she still wanted to know, to help him, because she loved him and didn't want him keeping things from her. Now, after nearly two years together, after more battles, more wounds than either could count, there was too much trust between them to think it was a good idea, that trying to hide something like that was anything other than a waste of time and a fight waiting to happen. But he still had to ask, just like she had, just like they always did. Because even though they both knew they were okay, it was comforting to actually hear the words.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted them then, and he turned just as Argent reappeared, rounding the nose of his SUV. Derek was right behind him, carrying two white paper bags marked with an unfamiliar logo, one of which he handed to Malia.

"You two are in twelve," Argent said, pressing a key into his hand. "We're in thirteen. Try to get some sleep, guys. It's gonna be a long drive tomorrow."

No more words were exchanged, both groups eager to finally get some rest as they grabbed their bags out of the back of the car and went their separate ways. Scott fiddled with the key for a second before he managed to get the door open, then headed inside, grimacing as he flipped on the light and felt his eyes protest the sudden brightness. By the time he'd blinked them clear, Malia had shut and locked the door behind them and was in the process of pulling some pajamas out of her suitcase. Stepping around her, he dropped his own bag in front of the ancient television and headed for the bed, nearly overwhelmed by the sudden urge to just throw himself down on it and let sleep claim him.

"Wait." Freezing in place, he slowly turned back, found her watching him, one eyebrow raised. "You can't sleep yet. Bathroom first."

He frowned. "What?"

"Bathroom first, Scott. You need to wash up. We both do. We're covered in blood." She nodded toward the bed, face screwing up in distaste. "That thing is filthy enough already. And that's coming from somebody who used to sleep on the ground. We don't need to add our blood to it too."

"Oh." He looked down at himself, at his torn shirt, at the dried blood staining his arms. "Right." He knew she was right, that he should try to wash now, not only for cleanliness, but because he'd feel even worse if he woke up like this in the morning. But still he hesitated. The bed, despite what she'd said, looked extremely comfortable, every bone and muscle in his body crying out for him to just lie down and finally stop fighting his exhaustion. "But I don't want to."

That was about as close to whining as he ever got, and it drew a little huff and an amused smile from her. "You _do_ want to," she said, putting her clothes aside and stepping toward him. "And you'll regret it tomorrow if you don't. Come on, I'll give you a hand." Reaching out, she laced her fingers through his and began leading him toward the bathroom. "I'll do you and you can do me."

He let out a weary chuckle at that, obediently shuffling along behind her. "That's not fair. You know I can't resist when you pull out those double entendres. And," he continued, as she guided him down onto the side of the tub and turned to grab a towel from a small cubby next to the sink, "it's really not fair to tease like that when you know I'm too tired to actually do anything about it."

Turning back, she arched an eyebrow. "Who said I was teasing? Lose the shirt."

For a second, he was still, just looking at her, before he finally broke and let out an amused breath, shaking his head as he did as he was told. Unbuttoning the garment was easy enough, but as he went to shrug it off, he gritted his teeth, biting back a curse as the movement tugging painfully at the cuts and scrapes dotted liberally across his upper body. When it was finally off, he sighed in relief, even as the sudden exposure to open air added a bite, a sting to his injuries. As he stiffly held his arms out, away from his body, Malia wet the towel, then knelt next to him and went to work. Starting just above his belt, she gently wiped away the dried blood, carefully checking to make sure the worst of his wounds had stopped bleeding and were starting to seal up.

"I think we need to work on your dodging," she said lightly as she ran the towel over a particularly deep cut on his stomach, drawing a hiss of pain from him. "I know we heal fast and everything, but you should still at least _try_ to not get hit."

"I'll keep that in mind," he bit out, harsher than he'd intended as he tried not to move and make the pain any worse.

Picking up on the strain in his voice, her eyes briefly flickered up to his. "Sorry. I'm trying not to—"

"It's okay. Do what you have to do." He flashed her a small smile, getting one in return before she refocused on the task at hand.

For the next few minutes, Scott was silent, watching as she worked her way up his torso, her practiced hands doing a good job of limiting the discomfort. He couldn't help but marvel a little at how gentle she could be, after watching those same hands, tipped with deadly claws, tearing into the flesh of their enemies just a few short hours ago. It was a strange dichotomy, one not lessened at all by the fact he got to experience it so often. This wasn't the first time she'd done this for him, far from it, and it still hit him just as hard every time, knowing what she was, what she could do, contrasted with the tenderness and care she showed him. It was something he tried very hard to do for her in return, to replicate that effort as often as he could, give it back to her. Because he could tell her he loved her ten times a day, but when they did things like this for each other, it expressed that emotion in a way words never could, gave it a real form. And she deserved that, after everything she went through at his side. She deserved that and more. So much more.

"You're staring."

Her quiet observation drew him from this thoughts, and he smiled sheepishly as she looked up at him, lips twitching. "Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking."

"About me, I hope."

"Hockey, actually." She rolled her eyes and he grinned. "No, definitely you."

"Care to share?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my life. Lucky that you love me enough to do this, to put up with... _everything_."

"What do you mean? Don't all girlfriends have to do stuff like this?" she teased, eyes sparkling mischievously as her lips curled back in a little smile, one he mirrored as he slowly shook his head. "You are lucky. I'm a treasure."

He grinned at that. "You are. I know you're joking, but you really are. You're—you're everything to me. I mean, look around." He gestured around the tiny bathroom, so small there was barely enough room for both of them, every surface stained and yellowed with age. "It's two in the morning, and we're so far from home, holed up in this dump, covered in blood, hungry, exhausted. That's..." He trailed off, shaking his head as she watched him silently, the amusement fading from her face as she realised how serious he was. "I knew after I got bit my life was never going to be easy, but this is way more than I ever expected. And the fact you're here with me means more than I can ever say."

"You don't need to say it," she said softly, voice thick with emotion as she turned her attention to the last of his wounds, his shoulders.

"Yeah, I kinda do. I want you to understand how amazing you are. You don't have to be here, Malia. You know I'd understand if you wanted something else. You could stay in Beacon Hills. You could leave if you wanted to, go wherever you wanted. Somewhere Monroe couldn't touch you. Somewhere you could have a real life and all the things you deserve. But you don't. You stay with me, even though you know that means... _this_. Crappy diners in the middle of nowhere, so tired we can barely keep our eyes open. Bloody wounds and torn clothes. Days on the road, chasing something, or running, or... I don't even know. Barely seeing your dad, almost never home, and—"

"I am home." Slowly, under his questioning gaze, she rose to her feet, tossing the towel aside. "Beacon Hills is where we live, but it's not my home. Not really. My home is wherever you are, wherever we're together." Reaching out, she pressed her hand to his chest, her palm directly above his heart. "This right here, this is my home. You're my home. Don't get me wrong. I love our apartment, my dad's house, your mom's, but when you're gone, none of them feel the same. They're just... they're just houses, just places. It's you that makes them a home. I'd rather be with you, wherever you are, than anywhere else without you."

As she trailed off, her eyes locked on his, he was silent, processing her words, letting their meaning sink in. It was the first time she'd said it, phrased it like that, and it hit him hard, left him reeling. Because he felt the same way, had for a very long time. It wasn't something that was easy to put into the words, the idea that as long as she was with him, he could be more comfortable in some nameless motel than he was in the house, the room he'd grown up in. That he could curl up with her on some lumpy mattress and sleep better than in his own bed, alone and cold without her. That when they did have to part, it was the thought of seeing her again that motivated him, not the desire to get back to Beacon Hills, to the surroundings he lived in his entire life. But in the end, it boiled down to the same thing all their interactions did, all the things they said to each other, everything they did together, for each other. That connection between them that drove them on no matter what was around them. The love, constantly expressed even when it wasn't spoken.

"That's..." He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Yeah, I—it's the same for me. But I—I just wish... I wish we could have a life a little closer to normal sometimes, y'know? I wish I could give you that."

"This is normal," she interjected. "This is _our_ normal. And it can get bad, but I can handle it. _We_ can handle it. Together. Do I wish things were different sometimes? Yeah, of course. But I wouldn't trade you or what we have for an easier life. I wouldn't give you up for anything. Not a chance."

He had to take a moment to collect himself then, not trusting his voice as he took in the earnestness in her eyes, her expression, the love for him he could see there.

"Me neither," he finally managed to get out, as he stood and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, touching his forehead to hers. "I love you."

"I love you too." Tilting her head, she brought her mouth to his in a kiss that was far too brief for his liking. As she pulled away, he opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a finger pressed to his lips. "More of that later. For now..." She took a step back and reached for the hem of her shirt. "I think it's my turn."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about this one. It was supposed to be a contrast in how Scott and Malia act around each other during a fight with Monroe's people and then afterwards, but I couldn't get the fight part to work out like I wanted. I still tried to hit some of the same points, but cutting the first half forced some other shifts I hadn't intended. Still, I think it turned out all right. Hope you all enjoy it.


	19. Symbolic

**Symbolic**

There was a time when eating dinner with somebody and not saying a single word would have seemed ridiculous to Scott. The idea that he could sit there with another person, completely silent, and feel content, fulfilled doing nothing but being with them just wouldn’t have occurred to him. That he could spend an hour with them and not tell a story, crack a joke, make an observation, not feel a need to fill that silence with words, with conversation would have been ludicrous.

That was before Malia, before he learned just how easy it was to be quiet with somebody when he was comfortable them, when they knew each other, inside and out. He could read her, knew she could read him, know what he was thinking, feeling, with nothing more than a look.

It was so easy to be quiet because words just weren’t necessary.

This night in particular, he was more than happy to just sit across from her, at a table loaded down with the meal he’d made for her, and observe her. To watch the candle light dance across her skin, see the little smile curl her lips every time they locked eyes, and marvel at how, in just a few short months, she’d become the most important person in his life. To bask in the moment, in being with her, completely alone, with all the distractions, all the unfortunate realities in their lives pushed to the side for now, ignored and temporarily forgotten.

It was wonderful. But eventually, it had to end.

“How was it? Did you like it?”

His first words in the better part of an hour, and Scott was more than a little embarrassed at the little waver of uncertainty he could hear in his own voice. It wasn’t because he was doubting his own skills in the kitchen, which he thought were actually decent. But this was her day, her night, and he wanted it to be as close to perfect as it could be.

“Fishing for compliments?” Her tone was playful, teasing, as she pushed aside her empty plate, the hint of a smirk twisting her lips, and before he could reply, she reached out, clasped her hand over his where it rested on the table. “This was great, Scott. This was… this was exactly what I wanted. Thank you.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that, turning his hand over so he could properly grasp hers. When he’d first asked her what she wanted to do for her birthday, he hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect. She’d never dropped any hints, had only mentioned in passing that the day was coming up at all. So he asked her, point-blank, what she like to do. He was more than willing to make it happen, no matter what, even if it meant taking a few more shifts at the clinic, stretching his finances more than he usually would. But she’d told him she just wanted something simple, dinner with him and maybe having some friends over, a nice, peaceful evening, something that was becoming increasingly hard to find as the struggle with the hunters ramped up.

The dinner part had been easy. He drawn on every bit of talent he had to make her favourite food, and he was pretty pleased with the results. If there was one thing she’d always shown a real appreciation for, it was effort, and he’d really tried. Doing what he could to make it as romantic as possible, making sure everybody else was out of the house and nobody called or disturbed them, setting up the candles, were all worth it just to see the happiness on her face.

Harder had been setting up the get-together for afterwards. He knew she’d be happy just to see their friends, their pack in a situation that wasn’t going to end in bloodshed. Unfortunately, with Lydia and Stiles away for school and Derek out of town, the people she was closest to just weren’t there. But he’d made some calls, put some plans in motion, and if everything worked out in his favour, he’d be getting some good news on that front very soon.

Pushing his thoughts aside for the moment, Scott gave Malia’s hand a little tug as he slid his chair back, guiding her around the table as she rose to her feet. She was looking at him in a way that wasn’t entirely dissimilar from how she’d looked at the food when he first set the table, and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

“What do you think?” she murmured, as she straddled his lap and hooked her arms over his shoulders. “We’ve got some time before everybody gets here, right?”

Without warning, she leaned in and slanted her lips over his in a passionate kiss, hard, bruising, and over entirely too quickly for his taste. Caught off-guard when she began to pull away, he let out a little groan of frustration and reflexively tried to follow her, coming forward, craning his neck, trying to stay with her. She let out an amused breath and stopped him with a palm on his chest, grinning at the sour expression that formed on his face.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” He could hear the restrained laughter in her voice, could see the mischievous light dancing in her eyes. “I was talking about cleaning up all this.” She jerked her thumb back toward the table. “I don’t know what you thought I meant.”

Shaking his head, he snorted, an answering grin slowly spreading across his own face. “Tease.” She just shrugged, completely unrepentant, and he chuckled as he reached up, brushing the hair back from her face and gently tucking it behind her ear. “Actually, since we do have some time, there’s something I want to give you.”

Her eyes lit up. “Another gift?”

“Uh...” He pursed his lips, rocking his head from side to side for a moment. “Yeah, sort of, I guess. It’s kind of, um, kinda for both of us. But we have to go upstairs. It’s in my room.”

“In your room, huh?” She arched an eyebrow suggestively. “Is it a sex thing?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not a sex thing.”

“You sure?” she asked, as she slid off his lap and reached for his hand, guiding him up alongside her. “Because I’m not opposed. Like, at all. Just, people are gonna be here in half an hour, so, if it _is_ a sex thing, maybe we should wait until later.”

“It’s _not_ a sex thing,” he reiterated, heading for the stairs, ignoring the teasing grin she shot him as she let him pull her along behind him. “Believe me, if it was, I’d definitely save it for later.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ve got plans for you once everyone leaves.”

“Does that mean I’m getting lucky tonight?”

“I can pretty much guarantee it.”

They kept up their banter the rest of the way up the stairs and into his room, and Scott was thankful for the distraction. He could feel his nerves building the closer they got, a situation only compounded by the embarrassment he was feeling for being nervous at all. He knew he should be calm, relaxed. It wasn’t like he was about to do anything outrageous, or out of the ordinary for where they were in their relationship. But until he saw her reaction, it was only going to get worse.

“All right,” she said, as he ushered her inside his room and took his time closing the door, his back to her. When he turned around, she was looking around, eyes narrowed, like she half-expected something to jump out of the closet or out from under the bed. “Where is it?”

Instead of replying, he stepped over to her, hands going to her waist, and guided her back until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She flashed him a questioning smile as he straightened up, clearing his throat nervously before he took a step back. For a brief second, he wondered if he should say something, try to walk her through exactly what he was trying to do here. But he very quickly decided to just go for it. With that in mind, he turned toward his dresser, behind him, and pulled open the second drawer from the top. The one he’d spent time earlier emptying out, while she was having lunch with her dad.

“Here it is.”

As far as big reveals went, it wasn’t great. He stood to the side, waiting silently while her eyes darted from the drawer to him and back again. If the slight furrow of her brow was any indication, she was confused, and he couldn’t really blame her, realisation quickly settling in that he hadn’t exactly been clear about what he meant.

“Is there—is there supposed to be something in there?” she finally asked, frowning as she focused on him.

“No. This is it. This is—this is your drawer. I mean, if you want it.”

He knew the moment she figured out what he was saying, because her eyes abruptly went wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He smiled, trying to ignore the butterflies suddenly fluttering up a storm in his belly, and shrugged. “It’s—I know you’ve been spending a lot of time here anyway, and it’s not like you haven’t been leaving stuff around or anything.” He nodded toward his chair, where a bag was sitting, some of her clothes spilling out the top. “I know this doesn’t really change anything for us, but I wanted to do something to let you know I don’t just take it for granted that you’re going to be here. That I want you here, with me. That this isn’t just my space anymore. It’s ours. It’s... I’m committed to this, to us, and I thought this might be a way to prove that to you, I guess. And I know it’s more symbolic than anything else, but I—“

His words were lost then as he suddenly found his arms full of Malia, her lips on his, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. Caught off-guard, he stumbled slightly, catching his hip on the edge of his desk and finding himself unable to care about that at all. He was too busy responding to her enthusiastic efforts, any nervousness immediately washed away by her reaction, the emotion shining through in how she held him, how she moved against him.

“Wow,” he gasped out when she eventually pulled back, eyes bright, burning. “That was...”

“That was just a taste,” she stated, drawing a grin from him at the blatant suggestion, the promise in her tone. “You definitely deserve more than that, but we’re running out of time here, so it’ll have to do. For now. But later...” She leaned back in, mouth finding his again in another kiss filled with heat and promise. And when they broke apart this time, her grin was just as wide as his, elated laughter spilling from her. “I didn’t expect this.”

“Honestly, it was kind of a last minute thing,” he admitted, clasping his hands together behind her as he settled his arms around her waist. “I’ve been thinking about it for a little while now, partly for practical reasons and for... well, what I already said. And then you were out today, and I just thought it was the right time, y’know? I was gonna do it tonight, try not to make a big deal of it. I mean, it’s just a place to put clothes, right? But I don’t know. I kinda think maybe it _is_ a big deal, so—”

“It is.” Her words and the accompanying nod were equally emphatic. “It definitely is.”

“Right?” They shared a smile before he kissed her, soft and sweet this time. “I love you,” he murmured when he leaned back, eyes locking onto hers. “I love you and I want you here with me.”

“I love you too.”

At that point, all Scott wanted to do was spend the rest of the night there, with her, basking in the warmth, the love radiating from her, between them. He was pretty sure, in that moment, he could have stood there forever, just looking at her, at the emotions at play on her face as he held her close. He couldn’t have cared less about the fact they had company coming soon, could barely remember why they did, why he should do anything other than what he currently was.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world chose that moment to make itself known, in the form of the door opening downstairs. Familiar voices rang out, calling for them, his mom’s and Liam’s immediately recognisable, and with a sigh, Scott took a step back, reluctantly letting his hands fall from her.

“Guess we’ll have to pick this up again later.”

She didn’t move. “Screw that. I say we just tell them to come back in an hour.” Pausing, she pursed her lips. “Maybe two.”

He grinned. “They might find that a little suspicious.”

“I don’t care. It’s my birthday. I’ll do what I want.”

Shaking his head, he reached for her again, taking her hands in his. “Do you really want that though?”

“I want _you_.”

He couldn’t have kept his amusement contained then if he wanted to, laughter spilling from him as he pulled her close. “And I want you. But I think we can probably keep our hands to ourselves for a couple hours, right?” She shot him a doubtful look, drawing another chuckle from him. “Let’s at least try, all right? Everybody came to see you. Doesn’t seem right to kick them out now.”

For a second, she hesitated, before finally giving in and nodding reluctantly. “Okay, fine, let’s go. But,” she said, catching his arm as he turned toward the door, holding him still. “This?” She gestured between them. “To be continued.” Without another word, she stepped around him and disappeared through the door, leaving him standing there alone, staring after her.

“Happy birthday, Malia,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head and grinning as he followed her out. “Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody requested a birthday fic, and this is what I ended up with. Hope you all enjoy it.


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